


Night Vale College Boarding School

by OfficialStarsandGutters



Series: NVCBS [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 36,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfficialStarsandGutters/pseuds/OfficialStarsandGutters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos has just transferred to Night Vale College Boarding School, drawn by his curiosity of the interesting things he's heard happen in the strange little city. He plans on investigating some of these around his studies. What he does not plan on is the strange boy he has to share a dorm with, or how their relationship will develop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Carlos straightens his bag on his back, checking the straps are equally measured for about the twelfth time. He pulls his suitcase closer to his leg, hearing the words spoken near him but not paying much attention. His mother had been sent down with him to get everything sorted. His father had been busy with work and had sent Carlos a goodbye email rather than bidding him adieu in person. Carlos doesn't mind, much, it's not like he sees either of them that often anyway.

“And that should be everything sorted. Now, ah, Carlos, if you'd like to come with me I'll show you the way to your dorm. You're welcome to come as well, of course, Mrs Rivera.”

“No, no.” Carlos watches his mother stand in one fluid, graceful movement, smoothing down the front of her skirt. “Thank you so much for your time, Miss Hart, but I really must be on my way. Carlos, come here, give mummy a hug. You be a good boy now and make sure to keep in touch.”

Carlos grudgingly gives in to his mother's affection, knowing it's mostly for show. She sighs in irritation when she pulls back, smoothing down a strand of unruly hair that has been doing it's best to curl up from the rest all day. Carlos holds for five seconds before pulling away. Together, he and the secretary watch his mother walk briskly out of the front office, door swinging shut behind her. It is only when it clicks shut that Miss Hart clears her throat and moves from behind her desk.

“Alright, this way, please.” She is overly bright and perky, to an extent Carlos finds annoying. He says nothing, not wanting to encourage more giddy speech, gathering his suitcase and following her. As they walk she points out things. The dining hall, the football field, the sports centre. Carlos has already toured the grounds. He already knows these places. The only thing he doesn't know is which dorm he will be staying in.

He'd been dragged away on one of his father's business meetings during the last few weeks of Summer, arriving back a week after the school term had started. He would have just stayed behind except the area in Japan where his father's was meeting with colleagues had a science week programme on during their stay, of which many young and influential speakers in the field were doing talks. It was worth sacrificing the first week of school for, Carlos had thought, and might help with his intended research. While it wasn't as exciting as he had hoped, it had been interesting.

“Here we are!” Miss Hart swings the door open with a little flourish, revealing a dorm room with four beds laid out parallel to each other. Three of the beds have already been claimed, the two closest to the door and the one beside the window. “Goodness only knows where the boys are off to. Dinner is at five. You'll get to meet some of your classmates there. You have your schedule for Monday, yes? Good. If you need anything, you know where I'm at.”

Carlos thanks her quietly and is glad to see her go. He looks at the room for a moment before taking his things down to the free bed. As he does so, he examines the other beds. The first two are relatively neat, only a few articles of clothing tossed here and there. The bed by the window, however, is buried beneath sheets of paper. Some of them have scribbles of writing, other have splotches of paint and mixed colours. There's a jar of dirty water on the nightstand and a pot overflowing with paintbrushes, pencils and pens. Carlos frowns, silently disapproving of the mess.

It doesn't take him long to unpack and, once he's discovered which set of drawers are his, pack everything properly away. When he's done, he feels at a bit of a loss for what to do. Walking to the window, Carlos looks out across the grounds. There are boys moving to and fro, little herds of them, some of them pushing and shoving at each other. There's football practice going on down on the field, and along the edges boys sit on the grass, watching. He stands there for a good few moments himself before pushing off the wall and heading back to his bed. Experimentally, he drops onto it and bounces a few times. Sturdy but soft. Good. Carlos glances around the empty dorm again before lifting one of his many books (though he couldn't bring half the ones he wanted to) and sitting back against the headboard to read for a while.

He doesn't even hear the boy enter.


	2. Chapter 2

Cecil bounds into the room, his art folder bouncing against the back of his legs with each eager step and several reference books in his arms. He pauses at the sight of a strange boy sitting on the spare bed. The only light is from the window and he can see the boy's profile. He pauses, uses his wrist to nudge his glasses up his nose and speaks.

“Oh, hello there! They didn't tell us when you were coming – we knew, of course – but not when. You're our new room mate then. Hi!” Cecil talks away as he walks down along the beds. He pauses at the foot of the new boy's, smiling brightly at him before stepping down to his own beside the window and depositing his books. “I was just down at the art room doing a bit of work. Professor Birmingham lets me use the supplies outside of class time. I'm Cecil, by the way. Cecil Palmer.”

He pulls the strap of his folder over his head and lets it fall to lean against the side of the bed. Finally free of his burden, he is able to turn the full force of his grin directly on the boy who is now glancing up at him, looking a bit overwhelmed by the sudden flow of conversation shattering his silence.

“Carlos,” he says quietly, pushing his own glasses up with his index finger. “Carlos Rivera.”

And Cecil is completely lost.

Attending an all boys boarding school means he does not call many boys 'gorgeous', but that is definitely what Carlos is. Beneath his glasses he is all careful angles and first suggestions of stubble. His eyes are dark and his hair is darker, sleek, silky, catching the light and shining. Cecil wants to touch it with such strong desire it catches him off guard. His mouth is soft and on the brink of a frown, his nose is strong and straight and his skin is dark and untouched by flaws or blemishes (to Cecil's eyes, at least). He is beautiful and he is staring expectantly at Cecil for some sort of response to his words.

“Lovely,” Cecil says. Or breathes, rather. It comes out like a sigh, a soft exhale, and Carlos is still looking at him with that half-frown. He feels his skin heat and prays to whatever deities exist out there that if he's blushing it's not visible in the dimly lit room. “Er- Your name. It's a nice name. Yes.”

Cecil turns away because looking at Carlos seems to be draining his IQ from him at a rapid pace and it's extremely embarrassing, because Cecil is not stupid, and Cecil never has this much trouble communicating. He busies himself tidying the mess on his bed. There is a silence that seems far too heavy to be possible.

“Thank you.” When Carlos does reply, it is slow, careful and more than a bit uncertain. Cecil dares another glance at him, but his eyes are turned down to his book again. A little crease has appeared between his (perfectly shaped) eyebrows. It compliments his half-frown mouth. Cecil wants to kiss them both. This thought is very sudden and unexpected, but it is, Cecil thinks, quite true. He does want to. Multiple times. He clears his throat and stacks his papers together. It's several minutes before he builds up the nerve to speak again.

“Earl's on the other side of you. Earl Harlan. He's nice enough. A prefect. He runs a scouts group for the younger students. Probably where he's at now.”

Carlos is looking at him again. The furrow between his eyebrows is gone, but his mouth is still set to that half-frown that screams patient irritation. Cecil really wishes he would smile instead. He barrels on, trying to seem unaffected.

“Then Steve is over in the corner. _Steve Carlsberg._ ” Cecil's dislike is plain in the way he practically spits the name. He hates Steve. Steve who got Cecil kicked off the debate team because he's a football player and everyone likes him and he can do whatever he wants. Steve with his big Dumbo elephant ears and stubby nose and ingrown hairs along his jaw. He's a jerk, and someday everyone will realise it and Steve will have to live alone in a shack with a lot of cats. Ugly cats. Ugly cats with fleas that scratch him when he gets too close. Yes, that's what Steve Carlsberg deserves.

Cecil does not realise he has been glaring heatedly at Steve's bed until Carlos clears his throat with a polite little 'ahem'. His attention is immediately summoned to the boy beside him again.

“He'll be at football practice now. You'll probably not see either of them until dinner.” Cecil pauses, glancing down at his pile of papers before a delightful thought occurs to him. “We can go down together! I'll introduce you to them. It's always nicer when you know who you're rooming with.”

Carlos looks like this idea is not at all agreeable to him.

“Thank you,” he says, as if detached politeness is the only way to deal with excitable boys who smile too wide and talk too much. Cecil takes this as agreement. Carlos didn't say no, after all.

“Neat!”

Did he... Did he really just say that? Oh, oh god. He needs to find out how to retune his filter between mind and mouth so it stops fizzling out while he's in the presence of the most beautiful and perfect Carlos, as, you know, he will be in his presence a lot being that their beds are beside one another. Oh. That thought trails on to Carlos sleeping. Carlos waking up with ruffled hair and groggy eyes. Carlos changing...

 _No. Let's not go there for now, Cecil_ , he tells himself firmly, and drops down onto his bed, feeling under the pillow. His hand brushes across his personal notebook and he pulls it out. It's a mixture of many things: a journal, a dream diary, a sketchbook, and somewhere just to keep the stray thoughts that slide around inside his head. Flicking to a clean page, Cecil starts a doodle that turns into a detailed portrait of Steve Carlsberg with elephant ears.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Carlos still hasn't decided what to make of Cecil, really. He seems to be all nervous energy. He's constantly moving, emitting noise, making it plain that he is alive, so alive. Carlos watches him drawing away in his book from the corner of his eye. Cecil's glasses have slid down his nose. His eyes are bright and focused. His hand moves quickly and his mouth is curled into a small smile as he hums softly to himself, some unknown upbeat song that could be of Cecil's own creation for all Carlos is aware. It's vaguely irritating.

Carlos does not like noise when he is trying to read. Of course, he's spent his teenage years in various boarding schools. He knows what is to be expected. The hustle and bustle of daily life. The common rowdiness of boys in a confined space. Noise in inevitable, but not this kind of noise. Not happy humming and bed creaking beneath constant shifting. They're small things, but undeniably distracting, and Carlos is not pleased. He understands why his bed was free. He understands why no one wanted to sleep here while this boy exists beside them.

Carlos realises he's being a bit harsh.

He makes snap judgement on people quite frequently. Gathers information swiftly, stores it into folders in his mind and sorts the person depending on what categories they come under. While he's usually right, he realises it's not the best thing to do. It's the kind of thing his parents do. He doesn't want to be like them. He'll try to give Cecil a bit of a chance. A week, perhaps. See if that makes a difference.

A bell rings and Cecil's head snaps up. His smile bursts into the same bright grin he had on when he addressed Carlos earlier, and Carlos ponders how anyone can be so happy so often. He watches Cecil snap his book shut and hop to his feet, sliding the pencil behind his ear.

“That's the dinner bell. Shall we?”

He's looking at Carlos all bright and eager, like a puppy waiting for a walk. Carlos really just wants to be left on his own, if he's honest. He can find his way to the dining hall by himself and he doesn't care any great amount when he meets the boys he will be sharing a room with, as the moment is certain to come in the near future regardless of situation. However, all this would be terribly rude, and if anything, Carlos has been bred with polite manners instilled to his very core. He offers Cecil a small smile in return that only seems to double the other boy's enthusiasm.

“Great, let's go then!”

Cecil waits for him to stand and steps right into his space. There's a terribly uncomfortable moment where Carlos thinks Cecil is going to attempt to link their arms. He presses his elbows in against his ribs with as much subtlety as he can manage, but all Cecil does is walk close enough that their arms brush against each other. Once they're outside Carlos puts a decent step between them. If Cecil's smile momentarily falters, he pretends not to notice, and he definitely does not feel a brief stirring of guilt.

The dining hall, like the many dining halls Carlos has been in before it, is a mass of noise; clattering plates and cutlery, and the muffled sound of too many conversations taking place at once. Cecil leads the way up to the food counter, smiling and nodding at people as he moves. Carlos is surprised to find that he seems moderately popular. Perhaps once you get over the initial shock of his personality he is not as annoying as he seems.

Once their trays are laden with food, Cecil pauses to look around the dining hall, eyes narrowed in concentration. Carlos knows he has found what he is looking for when his face lights up again. At least it is easy to tell what Cecil is feeling.

“This way!” Once again Carlos is left to follow as Cecil moves away. This time it is to a table, where he slides in beside a roundish boy with messy brown hair and a scatter of dark freckles across his nose. Cecil pats the bench beside him and Carlos has no option but to sit.

“How did your art session go, Cecil?” The brown haired boy asks, giving a genuine smile. Carlos tries to watch without obviously staring.

“Fine, fine. Anyway! Earl, this is Carlos.” Cecil leans back so the boy can see past him and Carlos feels the prickling discomfort that unwanted attention brings with it. He forces a smile.

“Hello.”

“Carlos is going to be our new room mate!”

“Oh. Hi.” Earl extends his friendly smile to Carlos, who can feel the ache of his cheeks from holding his fake smile in place.

“And that's Steve.” Cecil's smile is gone and his voice has taken on a rather sullen tone. He nods at the boy sitting diagonal from them, with dirty blonde hair and shoulders that look well-defined even beneath his shirt. Steve jolts suddenly from his conversation with the boy beside him. He looks around curiously before his eyes narrow on Cecil.

“Did you kick me?”

“Just wanted to introduce you to our new room mate.”

Carlos glances between them, and the smile Cecil is now sporting is so obviously fake that even Carlos, who has little skill when it comes to reading people, can sense how insincere it is. Steve stares at him with apparent annoyance for another moment before the angry lines of his face soften and his attention moves to Carlos.

“His name is Carlos,” Cecil says. As if Carlos is unable to introduce himself.

Steve nods and makes painful small talk for a few moments. Introductions, the 'how are you settling?' when he clearly doesn't care for an answer. Just before they lapse into an even more painful silence, he turns back to his previous conversation. Only then does Carlos feel more than witness the tension seep from Cecil, who is smiling in his usual manner once more.

Carlos doesn't have to put much more effort into conversation. Cecil seems perfectly pleased to keep it running all through dinner, nattering on about this and that, about which teachers are better than others and which classes he thinks Carlos will enjoy, who's popular at the school and who he should probably avoid. Carlos gives him just enough attention to vaguely follow the conversation. Every so often Earl joins in.

They walk back to the dorm together, the three of them, Steve moving on ahead. Carlos isn't sure what to think of him yet. It's clear he and Cecil do not like each other, but Carlos has never let the opinions of other people influence his own. Earl, on the other hand, is a lot more straightforward. He is warm and mild-mannered and Carlos thinks it would be difficult to dislike him. At least there will be one person in his dorm that is tolerable.

*

Sunday passes quickly. After breakfast they're all bundled into the large church for a mass ceremony. Carlos himself is an atheist and while he finds the ceremonies of different religions interesting, having been forced to sit through them at a few of his old schools has led to boredom. Night Vale, however, is unlike anything he's ever seen.

There's moaning and an odd buzzing sound emitting from what can only be described as a glow cloud hovering where the altar should be. The building itself is similar to other churches. Stone walls, high ceilings, stain glassed windows - although the scenes they are depicting seem more like pictures from a rather gruesome children's book than Biblical scenes. The noise continues until everyone is seated quietly in the rows of pews, and then it cuts off with a shrieking sound that causes goosebumps to explode across the surface of Carlos' skin. He glances around, but no one else seems surprised or disturbed by this occurrence. Cecil gives him a bright smile when their eyes accidentally meet.

The shriek echoes off the stone walls before finally dying out completely. There is a suspended silence following, which feels thick and uncomfortable. Carlos swallows. Suddenly, a voice booms out, loud and clear and impossible to pinpoint. It seems to simply exist in the air, all around them, like an invisible speaker system. It reads off name after name.

“Christina Arnolds. Harold Garza. Doug Howard.”

“Cecil,” Carlos voice is a hissed whisper, not wanting to draw attention. Cecil glances at him from the corner of his eye. “What's happening?”

“Carmen and James Jones.”

“It's the names of everyone who has died this week.” Carlos has never heard Cecil's voice so quiet and serious, his tone deeper and softer than usual. “They read them out every week.”

“Adela Martinez. Joey-”

“There's so many.”

“Not quite as many this week. They're at the Rs already.”

“Hank and Georgina Rogers.”

Carlos falls quiet, sitting back and listening to the rest of the names. There's a cold feeling seeping through him. He can feel it against his bones, like his blood has little flecks of blended ice in it. He had heard, of course, that Night Vale had a high death rate. It's the consequence of so many strange occurrences. He wasn't quite expecting this extent.

Once the final name is called and the voice falls silent, the wailing starts. This time it is a lot closer and Carlos jolts with the shock of it. It starts of with a few wails, and then grows, until the whole congregation around him has joined in. Carlos looks towards Cecil again for some kind of explanation. Cecil seems to understand his look of helpless confusion.

“It's a mourning exercise. It's also an outlet for fear."

Carlos would ask what there is to fear, but he's not sure he wants to know.

Cecil insists upon showing Carlos around after mass, so for the second time Carlos is dragged on a tour of the grounds and building, having places he already knows pointed out to him. He's still feeling a little shaken from the mass. The only real helpfulness of this exercise is that Cecil shows him the classrooms he'll be in after stealing a glance of his timetable, and so at least he won't be lost on Monday morning.

After lunch Cecil digs out his class notes, presenting them to Carlos with a proud smile, like a cat dropping a dead animal by his master's feet.

“I thought you might want to catch up on what you've missed. We haven't done much yet, but all my notes are here.”

Carlos thanks him and takes this opportunity as an excuse to slink off to the library. Each of the older students have their own little cubicle to study in. He finds his and separates Cecil's notes from his own books neatly before sitting and beginning to copy. Cecil's handwriting is surprisingly neat. It's all looping, sloping letters that look a bit like a fancy script font on the computer. Carlos isn't sure what he was expecting, but this is not it. He passes away the rest of his evening until dinner copying the words in Cecil's elegant hand out in his own smaller, more hurried print.


	4. Chapter 4

Cecil is up bright and early the next morning. It's not a rare occurrence, he has difficulty sleeping and nightmares that wake him early and often. He sits up, pulling the blanket tighter to his chest and feeling around for his glasses. Once he's found them on the nightstand, he slides them on and takes out his notebook to scribble down that he's had a repetition of his usual nightmare. As far as nightmares go, Cecil supposes it's nothing special.

There's always the same dark figures. Usually two of them, sometimes more. They're inhumanly tall and thin, as if they've been stretched out like gum. They slither up from beneath his bed and he knows, even while he's sleeping, he knows that they want to catch him and take him apart, poke around at his insides and rewire him. It's an uncomfortable feeling. Some nights he doesn't wake up in time and in the dream he has to lie through them slicing him. Only inside, past the blood and the guts and everything else, he's full of wires and mechanics. He can feel each pull or cut as they work on his mechanical insides but he can't move, can't fight, can't even make a sound.

Cecil closes his notebook quietly and slips it back under his pillow. He stretches and slips out of bed, padding quietly to the bathroom. One of the good things about being up before everyone else is that he can shower in peace, which he does, taking time to leisurely wash his hair and thinking about Carlos in a reflective and not at all inappropriate manner. It's clear the boy is an outsider, and he did little to hide it during yesterday's mass. Cecil hopes he'll get over that before anyone starts to notice. You do not draw attention to the strangeness of their town's little rituals and happenings. You simply accept it and move on. That's the only way to live without trouble.

He dries himself down quickly before wrapping the towel around his waist and heading back through to the dorm. Carlos meets him in the doorway, looking groggy, hair sticking up at odd angles. Cecil is suddenly very aware of his state of undress.

“Oh, uhm.” He's already warm and flushed from the hot water, the only thing saving him from blushing furiously right now. Or, well, at least the only thing disguising it. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” Carlos looks at him, standing silent and expectant. It takes a few moments for Cecil to realise he's stepped back to allow him through the doorway.

“Oh. Thanks.”

He slides through and just moves straight to his bed, deciding not to prolong the embarrassment. Pulling the privacy curtain around his bed, Cecil changes quickly and flops back onto the duvet, pressing his palms against his eyelids. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ He has to stop acting like such an idiot in front of Carlos. Yes. From here on in he's not going to act any different than he usually does. There's no reason to feel intimidated or nervous. Carlos is just a person, albeit significantly more attractive than anyone else Cecil has ever seen, but hey, that's not a big deal. It's not.

*

Cecil is practically painted to Carlos' side all day, leading him to the different classrooms and patting the seat beside him. He's taken it upon himself to guide Carlos. He's going to need someone to help him get settled. For his own good.

He gets the feeling Carlos does not particularly like the way Cecil remains so closely by him, and on several occasions tries to evade him with as much politeness as he can muster. It stings, yes, but Cecil tells himself that Carlos is new and unsure and he will come around eventually.

Cecil watches him during their classes, stealing glances when he thinks no one will notice. It is clear that Carlos has a love for learning. His eyes are sharp and alert, and he sits straight in his chair, not slumped and sleepily like many of the other boys. He asks questions not because he is unknowing or confused, but because he can phrase them in such a way to display his own knowledge and subtly challenge the gaps in their professors' knowledge. Carlos, Cecil thinks, is utterly brilliant, and also highly likely to get himself into trouble sooner or later.

It's okay. Cecil will help him avoid it. It's not his fault. Carlos doesn't know.

Cecil will protect him.

Cecil doesn't want to lose Carlos. Cecil knows what loss is like. Cecil has lost enough to last him a lifetime.

*

“I have to go,” Cecil says. Their final class of the day is over and they are lingering against a wall in the corridor outside the door of the classroom. “I'm part of the magazine society. We also put out the weekly newsletter, so, uhm. I have that. I could meet you for dinner though? Oh, or you could come! If you're interested in joining.”

“No, thank you. Not my area of interest.”

“Right.” Cecil rocks back and forth on his feet a few times. “What is your area of interest, then?”

Carlos looks at him, eyes curious behind his glasses. He looks tied between a little surprised and a little irritated. Cecil has seen that expression a lot. His presence correlates with Carlos' little half-frown.

“Science. I like science.” Carlos nods and Cecil grins brilliantly at him.

“Well we do have a science group. I'll get information for you. I do have to go now. So, dinner, yeah?”

“I can manage on my own.”

“Oh. Right. Well.”

There is a brief moment of painful silence.

“I'll see you at the table.”

“Yes! Of course. Cool. See you there.” Cecil turns and walks away before he can stutter out any more clumsy words. He wonders if he can fit his foot into his mouth. It might be better off there.

Cecil does a lot for the school magazine. He does illustrations and gathers information. He writes up articles, conducts interviews, and sometimes even goes out into the town on weekends to find out what's been happening. The magazine is a twice annually affair, but the newsletter is weekly and he's worked his way up to basically being in charge of that. It's nice. He really enjoys the work he does and thinks it's a great way to focus his energy beyond his paintings.

Cecil is a creative person. He thrives on colours, images, words. He loves finding dots of paint on his skin hours after he's set the brush down, loves the fact he can create whole worlds from his head with words alone and then bring them to life with images. He is so full of life and the inside of his head is a blur of noise, a colourful mess, and Cecil likes that he has outlets for all of that. He's also a sociable creature. He likes talking and being heard. He's charismatic and finds it easy to lead a conversation, to draw people in, to dazzle them with his voice and with his language. That's why working with the magazine appeals to him. That's why it's so frustrating when he falls apart in front of Carlos.

When the bell goes for dinner, the magazine group breaks up. Cecil walks with a few of them, talking and laughing and feeling more comfortable and relaxed in his skin again. In the dining hall he takes his usual seat. Carlos is not here yet. Cecil pretends this does not bother him as he pokes at his lentil loaf. It's several minutes longer before Cecil sees Carlos enter the dining hall and the first threads of panic that had been weaving themselves around his heart disparate. It's foolish to panic, he knows. It won't help anything.

Cecil starts a conversation with Earl so it won't look like he's just waiting for Carlos to make an appearance, and is still speaking when the latter slides in beside him. He manages to last a whole three more sentences before turning to smile at Carlos.

“Hey. I got you a leaflet about the science society. They do little projects and experiments beyond the work we do in class. It's cute! It also means you get special access to the labs. There's still time to sign up!”

Carlos slowly accepts the sheet of paper, giving it a brief skim over before glancing at Cecil over his glasses.

“Thank you.”

Cecil watches as Carlos neatly folds the leaflet and slides it into his pocket before beginning to eat. He looks away then, not wanting to be caught staring. Earl gives him a look that seems suspicious, but Cecil thinks he's probably just being paranoid.


	5. Chapter 5

It doesn't take Carlos too long to settle in. School is school. It's the same routine regardless of where it's situated. Night Vale is, for the most part, like most schools he has been to. The differences, of course, lie outside the walls. And with some of the students. Michael Sandero, for example.

“Cecil.”

“Yeah?”

“Who's that?”

“Oh, that's Michael Sandero. He's the quarterback of the football team.”

“How'd he get...”

“The scar?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, he used to have another head, but his mother had it surgically removed.”

“What!”

“It was his original head, actually, but the new one is much better looking. A lot nicer, too.”

“That can't be true.”

Cecil had looked at him with confusion, as if he couldn't comprehend what Carlos was saying.

“Of course it is.”

Carlos hasn't asked again.

However, it is, for the most part, like all schools, and so it hasn't taken Carlos long to settle in. He knows where his classrooms are, he's learned all his teachers' names and he's even spoken to a few new people (although Cecil likes to remain with him as often as possible. Carlos is getting used to it). He caught up quickly on what he'd missed and is now beginning to excel in his classes. He's been to his first meet of the science society after Cecil's prompting, and it was nice to be in a lab again, if nothing else. Yes. Carlos is beginning to feel like this year will be alright.

It's late Friday night and Carlos is reading on his bed, his lamp turned on for light. Cecil has his on as well and is doing something in one of his notebooks. Earl and Steve have pulled their privacy curtains closed around them. Carlos assumes they are sleeping. There's a persistent snuffling sound coming from the fireplace at the end of the room. It's been going for three nights now, and Cecil has assured him it's nothing to worry about. He has examined it, once, while everyone else was out during the evening, but the chimney is clear and he couldn't pinpoint the source of the noise, so he left it be.

Carlos stifles a yawn with the back of his hand, fingers slipping beneath his glasses to rub at his eyes. He'll just finish this chapter and then he'll go to sleep. Yes. Shifting against the headboard, Carlos licks his finger and turns the page, falling back into his rhythm of reading. The words patter through his head like raindrops on a rooftop, lulling him into a new world. His eyes are getting heavy, but he pushes on, desire to read on overcoming exhaustion. Finally he reaches the divide between chapters and snaps the book shut. Cecil jumps at the noise.

Carlos runs a hand through his hair and yawns again, feeling for the edge of the duvet so he can slip beneath it. He looks across at Cecil as he does so, who is sitting cross-legged facing him.

“Were you watching me?”

Cecil's eyes shoot up and Carlos can see the light blush that colours his cheeks almost immediately. He pushes his glasses up and squirms in the way he always does when Carlos directly questions him. There is a brief pause where Cecil chews on the end of his pen, looking torn, before he turns his book up for Carlos to see.

It's not his notebook, as Carlos assumed, but one of his sketchbooks. Sketched out in pen is Carlos himself, expression soft as he reads, glasses sliding down his nose. The drawing is the size of the page and impressively detailed. Cecil has caught Carlos' expression perfectly, the lines of his forehead and the crinkles at the corner of his eyes, the few stray curls of hair that fall over his forehead and the way the light catches on his lenses. For a long moment Carlos is stunned into silence.

“Sorry. I, uh, like drawing from life and you, well, you just- The light was hitting you well and-” Cecil breaks off, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “I just started drawing.”

“That's really good.” Carlos leans forward, tiredness forgotten in favour of his interest in Cecil's sketch. He reaches forward. “Do you mind if I- ?”

“Oh, no. Not at all.”

Cecil hands the sketchbook to him and Carlos sits back on his bed, holding the book up and admiring the work. Each line is confident and skilled. There's no sign of plot lines or pencil marks and the shading is amazing considering the whole thing has been done in black pen.

“You're really talented, Cecil.”

Cecil looks blown away by this comment, flushed and squirming in delight. He presses his knuckles against his mouth, eyes wide and bright behind his glasses.

“Seriously, this is incredible.” Carlos takes another moment to admire the drawing before handing the book back across to Cecil, who hugs it protectively to his chest.

“Oh, that's only a quick sketch. I'd love to paint you sometime. If- I mean, if you were up for it. If it would be alright with you. You don't have to sit for it! I could take a picture, and, uhm, you don't mind if I use the drawing, as part of my portfolio?”

Carlos smiles softly, feeling a sudden fondness for the bumbling boy in front of him.

“No. Of course not. I'd be honoured.”

Cecil rewards him with a toothy grin and quickly tidies his art supplies and his book away into his folder. As he does so, Carlos slips into bed and sets his glasses on the nightstand. Cecil's lamp goes out a few minutes after his. Carlos listens to him settle down in the darkness. The last thing he hears as he drifts off is Cecil's quiet, breathless giggle.

*

“So, they let us go home on Saturdays, but I assumed since you're not from Night Vale you wouldn't be going.”

Cecil is staring into his cereal bowl as he speaks, stirring the brightly coloured shapes in circles. He lifts a spoonful and tilts the spoon, letting it splash into the bowl.

“I'm not.”

“Yes, well,” Cecil barrels on. “Since you weren't, I thought maybe we could- See, they let the older students go into town if they're not going home, and well- You mentioned you were interested in Night Vale so, you know, I thought it might be nice if, well, I could show you around, if you'd like.”

Cecil risks a glance up at Carlos. Before he can answer, he hurries on.

“We could skip out on dinner and eat in town. Big Rico does the best pizza! You have to try it. It's just- fantastic. Yes. And we could walk out to Radon Canyon. It's not too far from the school, about half an hour, and it's got this great view and I was gonna take some photos for my art anyway but I thought you might like to see it as well and-”

“Sure.”

“What?”

“I'd love to see Night Vale.” Carlos gives Cecil a reassuring smile. He's warming up to the boy now. He's never had someone so determined to assault him with their full attention whenever possible, and while it was initially surprising and a little irritating, Carlos can't deny that he's beginning to quite like the attention.

He'd been a quiet and isolated boy. His parents moved a lot for business and never had time to give him much attention. He'd gone from nannies to boarding schools and there he had preferred devoting his time to books and his lessons than to befriending the other boys. Cecil's company is enjoyable due to the fact Carlos has to put so little effort into maintaining their friendship.

“Oh great!” Cecil drops his spoon, splashing milk across the table. He doesn't seem to notice, busy gushing on again. “I'm so glad! I think you'll really enjoy it-”

“Why aren't you going home, though?”

“Especially the- what?”

“You're from Night Vale, yes?”

“Uhm, yes, that is correct.”

“Then why aren't you going home?”

Cecil frowns, falling quiet again, and Carlos realises he has wandered into 'touchy subject' area. It is too late to retreat.

“I, uh, don't really have a home.”

“Oh.” Carlos stares intently at his bacon. He's curious, yes, undeniably, but at the same time he is extremely aware that probing into Cecil's business is a faux pas and will only further thicken the tension that has suddenly developed between them.

It is a long moment before Cecil speaks, pressing his fingers into the little splatters of milk.

“My parents were called to a meeting with the City Council when I was ten. They never came back.” Cecil wipes his damp fingers on his jeans and braves looking at Carlos. “I wasn't told how they died and I never saw the bodies. I got in here on a scholarship from the council. Compensation.”

Carlos is shocked by this information, as well as outraged. It's a disgrace that Cecil never received an explanation. That the bodies were never recovered. He's learning not to question things that seem abnormal to him, but surely Cecil must be aware that something isn't right?

“Has there never been an investigation?”

“Why?” Cecil blinks, face softening into the same curious expression he always gets when Carlos questions something that to him seems perfectly normal. “People die everyday. Lots of them simply disappear. You've heard the list. The Sheriff's Secret Police don't have time to investi-”

“The what?”

“The Sheriff's Secret Police? Oh, dear Carlos. How little you know. I'll explain later. Besides, it was a long time ago now.”

“Cecil.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“Cecil.”

“Shall we go then?”

Carlos sighs and gives up for the time being.

“Yes, let's go.”


	6. Chapter 6

_ I _ _t's not a date_ , Cecil tells himself for the fifth hundredth time that morning. He'd been nervous about asking Carlos all morning, afraid he would read too much into it, afraid he would say no, afraid of so many possible outcomes that he'd got himself all into a tizzy. Yet here he is and Carlos, perfect, beautiful Carlos, had said yes. Carlos is going out with him.

_Not out-out_ , Cecil reminds himself. It's just friends spending the day together. Lots of the boys go out around the city together without dating. He hadn't meant anything by it. He just knew Carlos would want to see around the town and who better to show him? Cecil knows this town. Knows the people and the places and is the best person to show Carlos around. If he wants to spend some extra time with Carlos outside of the school environment, well, there's nothing wrong with that. They are friends, after all.

Not that Cecil is opposed to the idea of a date. Not at all.

He is so lost.

Cecil slings his camera bag over his shoulder and runs a hand through his hair. He takes a few slow and deep breaths. He slides a small sketchbook in alongside his camera with a few pens, just in case, before turning to smile at Carlos who is waiting for him. Carlos in his faded denim shorts and button down shirt with the top three buttons undone. Carlos has not yet adjusted to the heat and it is a glorious sight.

“Ready?” He asks, glancing across at Cecil. Cecil's stomach does some kind of weird, wriggling contraction.

“Ready!”

They head down the lane towards the tall gates of the school. There are two guards in bright white uniforms at the gates, standing tall and silent. The boys show them the student cards that they've been issued and the guards nod, stand back from the pedestrian gate and let them pass through. Cecil sighs as the warm breeze brushes across his skin and ruffles his hair. He looks at Carlos, who in turn is looking around at the surrounding area. They're at the edge of town and there's not much to be seen for five or ten minutes.

“This way.” Cecil sets off the familiar route into the city centre. He points out things to Carlos as they walk. The gloomy Moonlite All-Nite Diner with its flickering lights, the Children's Science Museum that he thinks Carlos may find interesting, the dark and windowless building of the Public Library.

“Oh, a library.” Carlos' face lights up at that. Cecil frowns.

“We're not supposed to go in there. Librarians, you know. It's not safe.”

“Librari- What?”

“They account for at least three deaths a month.”

“But- how?”

“They're vicious. Just, stay away from the library, yeah?” Cecil smiles and gives Carlos a little pat on the wrist, ignoring the look of plain confusion on his face.

After giving Carlos a brief tour of the city centre and stocking up on a few bottles of water from Ralph's, Cecil leads him out of town again. This time, they head towards the desert sands and the canyon that lies beyond.

It is hot and Carlos keeps running his hand through his perfect, thick hair. Cecil is doing his best not to stare. Well, not obviously, anyway. His eyes drift towards Carlos of their own accord every so often, but he can't be held responsible for that, can he? It's perfectly well known that people are not always one hundred percent in charge of their bodies. The walk isn't very far, but it isn't very exciting either. Just sand and cacti and the mysterious door that flickers in and out of existence.

“Did that just-” Carlos gestures to where the door had been mere seconds ago. He blinks. He rubs his eyes, shakes his heads, and considers finishing his question but thinks the better of it.

“Hm?” Cecil inclines his head.

“Nothing.”

Radon Canyon is actually quite an impressive sight. The canyon is wide and deep, and the colours of the rock and sand vary from dark reds, burnt oranges, splatters of yellow and a collection of browns. As well as this are the mysterious coloured lights that glow through the centre of the canyon like a desert version of the Northern Lights. It's beautiful, and Cecil thinks it will be absolutely perfect for a chalk pastel piece. Chalk will work perfectly for capturing and blending the mix of colours. He digs his camera out of his bag and offers Carlos a bottle of water. Carlos, who is staring in awe, jaw ever so slightly slack, out across the canyon.

“Gorgeous, isn't it?” There is a tone of pride in Cecil's voice. He is very proud of his city and their landmarks.

He thinks Carlos is just as gorgeous as the canyon.

“Why are the lights- That kind of reaction should only occur at the magnetic poles.”

Oh wow! It is so dreamy when Carlos speaks science talk. Cecil bites on his lower lip, forgetting that he's expected to answer until Carlos looks at him with wide eyes.

“They're just pretty lights, Carlos. Does it matter why they're there?”

Cecil smiles before lifting his camera and beginning to take photographs. He moves around, wandering off to walk along the edge, trying to get the best angles and capture the colours clearly so he can recreate them later. He glances over his shoulder at Carlos, who is still staring off into the canyon, frowning lightly. Cecil snaps a quick photo of him while he's distracted and then leaves him to ponder over the mysterious lights. He returns after ten minutes, satisfied with his photographs.

Carlos is now sitting cross-legged on the dusty ground in the centre of a circle of glowing rocks. Cecil snaps another photograph of him. Carlos looks up at the sound.

“Hey.” Cecil says with a smile, walking across and crouching down beside him. “What're you doing?”

“I was examining these rocks to see why they are glowing. I think it may be some kind of radiation. It might offer an explanation about the lights over the canyon.”

“Uh huh.” Cecil nods along. He's only half listening, distracted by admiring the focused expression that comes across Carlos' face when he starts talking about science stuff.

“I'm going to take a few samples back.”

Cecil helps Carlos to find a few stones small enough that he can take them back to the school with him. While Carlos is searching for the most affected of the stones, Cecil picks out the ones he thinks are the prettiest colours, and it's not long before they have a decent collection between the two. Cecil offers to keep them in his camera bag, wearing his camera around his neck instead. The little smile of appreciation Carlos grants him in response is well worth it.

“Shall we head back and grab something to eat? I'm starved, and no one does a slice like Big Rico. No one.”


	7. Chapter 7

Cecil was right about one thing; Carlos has never had pizza like this before. As he attempts to chew the lump of goo in his mouth, and goo is the only way to describe the texture, he wonders idly if Cecil has ever had an actual real slice of pizza before. The tomato paste is thick and lumpy and makes him feel ill when he swallows, and the base tastes like grease and, for some strange reason, motor oil. There is no crunchy firmness that is expected with pizza. The mess crumbles and melts against his tongue, making sure to seep over every one of his taste buds until his whole mouth is clogged up with the flavour of it.

“Great, right?” Cecil smiles at him from across the table, happily chewing away as if he is unaware that what they are eating is more likely than not toxic. Carlos swallows thickly and forces a smile in return.

“Yeah, fantastic.”

Cecil beams. His legs are swinging beneath the table. Every so often Carlos can feel them near his, close but not quite touching. Never touching. With the hand not lifting poisonous pizza pieces to his mouth, Cecil sketches out rough little caricatures of the other customers in the restaurant. Carlos watches, enjoying the way the images blossom across the page, starting with a few ink lines and quickly growing into people. He tries to focus all his attention on the motion of Cecil's hand in the hopes it will distract him from the disgusting thickness that seems to be settling in his throat with each swallow.

Cecil's head moves up and down, looking from the page to the rather scrawny man he is sketching out, exaggerating the thinness and making him a bony skeleton with a sunken face and big, wide eyes. When he's done he looks up, seemingly startled to find Carlos watching him, if the way his eyes widen behind his glasses are anything to go by.

“It seems like no effort at all to you,” Carlos says, nodding down to the page.

“Oh, well, years of practice, you know.”

“I know. You just make it look so easy. I'm rubbish at art.”

“Carlos! I'm sure that's not true.”

“Trust me, it is. I can't draw at all.”

“Everyone can draw, Carlos.”

“Oh, well, I _can_ manage rather marvellous stick men.”

Carlos grins, rather surprised at how easy Cecil makes conversation. The playful banter between them is something that was a rare occurrence in any of his past friendships. Cecil grins back, looking flushed and delighted for no particular reason beyond the fact that Carlos is smiling at him.

Carlos sits a little straighter in his chair, shifts his legs, and the next time Cecil kicks forward his ankle brushes against Carlos' shin.

*

On Sunday there are more names. Almost twice as many as there were the week before. The shriek still makes Carlos jump, and he sits in silence as the voice lists name after name, staring ahead but eyes unfocused. Each name a human no longer breathing. Each name a person with a family, with parents or children or a pet. Each name a life that has stopped.

Carlos is not comfortable with joining the mournful wailing that follows, but he does sit with his head bowed in respectful silence. Beside him Cecil doesn't wail, but hums softly, a slow and eerie tune that is as unfamiliar to Carlos as the wailing but infinitely more comforting.

He is glad when the whole ordeal is over and they step back into the heat of the desert air.

“You didn't join in,” Cecil says, once the crowd has dispersed and it is just he and Carlos walking around the edge of the football pitch.

“Neither did you.”

“I don't like the wailing. Hurts my throat.” Cecil touches the base of his throat. “Aren't you afraid?”

“Of what?”

Cecil shrugs, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and looking up to the sky, away from Carlos.

“Even if I were, would that really help?”

Cecil glances around, as if checking if there's anyone nearby to overhear them. His eyes flick back to Carlos, wide and unsure, and his voice drops to almost a whisper.

“Probably not.”

*

Carlos hears Cecil at night. He hears him jolt awake, the hard gasping breaths that follow and the way the whimpers softly subside as he cries himself back to sleep. He hears him get up early in the mornings, sniffling and moving quietly through to the bathroom. Carlos is a light sleeper, so when Cecil stirs, he stirs. It's not every night, but it's enough for him to know it's a frequent occurrence.

The worst, however, are the nights Cecil doesn't wake up. The nights he cries and whimpers, writhing beneath his tangled duvet, desperate and broken. The nights he begs beneath his breath and scratches at the sheet, sobbing in a way that makes Carlos' insides clench. Eventually he will quiet down. Eventually the dream will end or he will just give into it and the noises will subside until there is nothing but the ringing silence following them.

After another week of this, Carlos questions Earl about it. He considers asking both him and Steve, but something tells him talking to Steve about Cecil's nightmares is not a good idea. It feels like a betrayal. While Carlos has a pleasant enough acquaintanceship with Steve, Cecil has made his opinion of the boy more than clear.

“Ah, yeah, he's always had them. Ever since our first year. Sometimes they'll go away for weeks at a time, but I don't ever remember him without them.” Earl scratches at his freckled nose with his index finger and leans back against one of the posts of his bed. Carlos has managed to catch him during Cecil's magazine society meet so he won't awkwardly walk in on them. “I've tried asking about them a few times, you know, in case he wanted to talk, but he doesn't like it if you mention them. That's the reason we leave the empty bed beside him. So we don't... overhear. When they happen.”

Carlos nods and stores away the information.

“They seem rather bad, from the sounds of it.”

“I know, but what can you do? He won't talk about them. Gets all defensive. I could get you ear plugs, if you'd like.”

Carlos thanks Earl and assures him that won't be necessary. While the lack of sleep and the waking at ridiculous hours may add to his grumpiness during daylight hours, he thinks being unaware of Cecil's discomfort would be worse. He doesn't know why, it just would. The thing that he has a problem with, that makes him uncomfortable, is the fact Cecil has to suffer so often because of his own mind.

When he sees Cecil at dinner, he doesn't mention talking to Earl.

*

A few weeks pass since their walk to the Radon Canyon, and Carlos still hasn't had a chance to experiment on the rocks he collected. They're stored away safely in a box in his side drawer. He's been waiting for an ideal opportunity, but it seems reluctant to present itself. The only time he has open access to the school lab is during the science society meetings, but Carlos doesn't want anyone else to know about his research, so he needs to get the room to himself.

Then Dr. Dubinsky, his chemistry teacher, sets them individual projects to work on. Carlos' is about acids and alkalis, different solutions and their reactions with various things. It's simple and Carlos know he will be able to fly through it, but it's just the opening he needs and he plans to take advantage of that. He lingers behind after class and politely asks if he may have permission to use the lab after hours to work on his project. Dr. Dubinsky, who sometimes watches over the science society and has taken a liking to Carlos after observing his interest and natural flair for his subject, is more than happy to trust Carlos and hands the key to the lab over.

Perfect.


	8. Chapter 8

“Don't touch anything,” Carlos says for the fourth time. Cecil knows. He has been keeping count. He rolls his eyes, but a small, fond smile graces his face anyway. It's okay. His back is to Carlos. He won't see it.

“I know, Carlos. I heard you the first three times.”

Cecil reaches out and trails his fingertips along the surface of a counter anyway. Just to show he can be trusted not to break anything. Ignoring the fact he's actually on the opposite side of the room from Carlos and his experiments, stroking an empty counter. Cecil is still counting it as a small victory.

He'd been beyond pleased when Carlos had approached him and asked for his help. Carlos! Asking for _his_ help! Cecil had been delighted, and agreed immediately. It hadn't been much. Carlos just needed someone to stand guard and alert him if anyone was coming so he could hide the fact he was using the lab for his own means. It didn't matter what it was for. What Cecil took from it was the fact that Carlos needed him, that Carlos wanted him to help, and that Carlos was willingly suggesting that they spend time together. Cecil didn't need to be asked twice.

It is not as exciting as he thought it would be, helping Carlos with science. Mostly because Cecil is not actually allowed to help with the experiment. He sighs, leaning back against the counter and looking across the room at Carlos. Lovely Carlos. His head is bent over one of the glowing rocks as he carefully drips a clear liquid onto it. The rock hisses and sparks. Carlos takes a step back, surprised, readjusts his goggles and leans closer again. Cecil smiles. It may not be exciting, but that doesn't make being in Carlos' presence any less enjoyable.

Cecil does another lap of the room, humming to himself. He hasn't much to do besides check the little window by the door every now and then, but it's after class hours and the hall is quiet and empty, the lights dimmed. He doubts anyone will come by. He hadn't felt like drawing this evening and so hasn't brought anything with him besides his camera, which he carries most places. Bored, Cecil snaps a few pictures of the various beakers and other equipment Carlos has set up. He doesn't seem to notice Cecil, caught up in scribbling down observations.

Cecil looks up at Carlos and for a moment is breathless. Carlos has just turned the Bunsen burner off the safety flame, writing down a few final notes before he'll adjust his ring stand over the heat. The blue flame flickers, just barely, and the light catches on Carlos' face perfectly. He's got most of the rows of strip lighting turned off overhead. The only remaining one is at the far end, where Cecil had been standing earlier. Consequently, the flame paints Carlos' face in a series of highlights and shadows, all glowing softly blue. Cecil lifts his camera, holding his breath without realising, and snaps a picture. Then another. On the third press of the button, Carlos looks up. Cecil captures the soft look of confusion on his face, startled from it's focused expression.

“Cecil.”

“Sorry, it's just, the flame- The way it was catching- You know, in days gone by painters preferred to paint by candlelight. It was softer, gave softer tones on their subjects.”

Carlos is looking at him, and Cecil can see the familiar crease beginning to appear between his eyebrows. His lips start to fold down at the edges.

“I just thought it would be really nice to capture you like that.” Cecil holds up the camera defensively in front of his chest, and he can feel heat rise to his cheeks. “You did say I could paint you.”

The frown fades and Carlos gives him a soft smile. His eyes are still a little wary, but a least he's not mad. At least he doesn't think Cecil is creepy.

“You'd better let me see it when you're finished. The painting,” Carlos says, and that is all. He turns his attention back to twisting the ring stand into place.

“I will!” Cecil bounces off to check the door again, glancing over his shoulder to catch sight of Carlos illuminated by the blue flame once more.

*

Cecil knows it is coming. He is asleep and he is not quite dreaming yet, but he can feel it, feel it at the edges of his mind. It is clawing and creeping closer. He is not aware of his body but he can feel his chest tighten, his throat clench, in the dream that has not yet formed. The scene unfolds around him, like he has been in a very dark room and the walls have just fallen away to let light flood in. Cecil is momentarily blinded. He wishes the walls had of stayed put.

There is no transition. The creatures do not move towards him, do not creep from the shadows or stalk across the room. One moment they are not there and then they are. There are sharp objects in their hands and Cecil can feel his skin break and split beneath the press and twist of them. He writhes and whimpers, but they take no notice. His eyes are shut, but he can still feel them above him, still see them through his closed eyelids. Closing his eyes in the dream means nothing.

He feels like he is drowning, like he is being dragged down into the depths of the dream and it is suffocating him. He bursts up in his bed, gasping for breath. He is cold, so cold, but his clothes cling to his sweat slick skin. A broken sound escapes his throat and he pulls the duvet up to his chest. He presses his face into the soft material of the duvet and lets out a shaky exhale.

“Cecil?”

Cecil is extremely startled by the sound. It does not matter that the voice is soft, quiet, barely above a whisper in the dark room. There is a terrifying moment during which he is convinced it is one of the creatures, having finally found a way to follow him from his dream. He jerks violently away from the sound, toppling out of the bed in a tangle of blankets and banging his head painfully against the corner of the bedside table.

“Shit. Cecil.”

There is a throbbing pain in the back of his skull now, and the base of his spine is aching from the way he landed on it. One of his legs is still propped up against the bed. He pushes himself back, getting briefly tangled in the curtains, and huddles below the window, fingers lightly tracing over the back of his skull as the other clutches tightly to the duvet for some form of comfort. There's a rustling and a creak as something moves through his curtains and onto his bed. Then Carlos' head appears, glancing down at him. Cecil doesn't have his glasses on, so Carlos is not completely in focus. He is fuzzy around the edges, but concern is still clear on his face.

“Are you alright?”

Carlos doesn't come any closer, but his eyes flick over Cecil's face. Cecil can feel the weight of he gaze on his skin. He stares back at Carlos, eyes wide and watery, and he might be crying but he can't be sure. He doesn't speak. He doesn't move. Carlos waits patiently. After almost a full minute, Cecil shakes his head and presses his face back into the duvet. He does not want Carlos to see him like this.

“Cecil.”

“'M fine.” His voice is shaky with emotion and the lie is more than clear.

“Cecil.” Carlos moves closer, but hesitates. Some people don't like to be touched after nightmares. He doesn't know if Cecil is one of those.

“Really, I- I'm fine, Carlos. You should go back to b-bed.”

“Cecil,” Carlos says again, but this time it is softer, and there is a note of some indistinguishable emotion in his voice. It makes Cecil's chest tighten. With a desperate whimper, he reaches out and curls his arms around Carlos' leg, hugging firmly.

“Carlos.”

“Oh, Cecil.” Carlos strokes Cecil's hair back from where it's sticking to his forehead in sweaty strands. He manages to free himself from Cecil's hold long enough to slide down the wall and sit beside him. Cecil presses into his space, burying his head into Carlos' shoulder. His body shudders as he releases a quiet sob. Carlos holds him, rubbing his back and murmuring soft, hushing sounds against his hair. “It's alright. I've got you.”

Cecil clutches at Carlos' t-shirt until his knuckles go white. It's alright. He's safe now. Carlos has got him.


	9. Chapter 9

Carlos rubs circles into Cecil's back. He can feel Cecil shivering beneath his touch, and isn't sure if it's from the cold or from his crying. It is cold. Carlos can feel the cold seeping through his boxers from where he's sitting. He reaches for the blanket tangled around Cecil's legs and pulls it up, shifting Cecil closer so he can arrange it over both of them. Cecil's sniffles against his shoulder. Cecil can feel the material of his shirt growing damp with tears. He doesn't mind.

Getting out of bed had been terribly impulsive. He'd still been half asleep when he spoke Cecil's name. It seems stupid now. He gave Cecil even more of a fright, and Carlos knows how uncomfortable the other boy is about his nightmares. He shouldn't have said anything, but he couldn't bear to spend another night listening to Cecil cry and doing nothing about it.

It's all rather new. Carlos has had friends in the past. Or at least, he considered them friends. They weren't like the kind of friendships he had read about in books or seen in movies. They weren't people he could entrust with his deepest secrets or come to when he was feeling insecure or upset. They were just people to pass the time with, to have safe conversations about classwork or debates over scientific theories. A place somewhere a few steps beyond small talk and acquaintance, but not real friendship. He doesn't know how to comfort someone properly, has never really experienced this before.

After a few moments Cecil shifts back.

“Sorry.” His voice is soft, rough from crying, and so quiet Carlos just catches the word. He rubs at his nose and does not meet Carlos' eyes.

“Don't be.”

“I got your shirt wet.”

“It's just a shirt. It'll dry.”

They sit in tense silence for a few moments before Cecil sniffles again and pushes up to his feet. He moves off to the bathroom and Carlos stands when he is gone, remakes Cecil's bed for him. He moves to sit on his own and waits. It seems to be ages before he hears Cecil's feet padding back across the room. He crawls into bed without a word, settling down beneath the blanket and staring up at the ceiling. He leaves the curtain on Carlos' side open.

Carlos, in return, leaves his open, and settles down himself. If Cecil doesn't want to speak about it he's certainly not going to pry. Things are awkward enough as they are. Once Carlos is in bed he feels uncomfortable and tense. Was it wrong to try and offer Cecil some kind of support? Should he have just left it? He chews on his lower lip. While his lack of close friends had never been of much concern to him before, he finds that Cecil is different, because Carlos likes Cecil. He's funny, smart, talented and interesting in a way Carlos has never experienced before. Cecil is different from anyone he's ever met and he's grown fond of the boy, _wants_ to be liked by him in return.

It's all very confusing, and Carlos is so lost in his thoughts he almost doesn't hear the quiet words that spill into the space between them.

“Carlos? Thank you.”

“Any time,” he just about manages to form in return, and his throat clenches around it.

*

The next morning Cecil is back to his upbeat self, and Carlos is thankful for it. He's never been good at dealing with delicate, emotional situations, and he's not sure he could bear discussing what had passed between them in the light of day. Some moments are meant to be kept in the shadows of four am.

A few nights pass undisturbed, but as always, the nightmares return. This time it's Cecil who comes to Carlos. He pushes the curtain aside and Carlos can see the shadow form of him. Without a word, he sits up in his bed and shifts to let Cecil sit beside him. They sit with their shoulders touching and after a short stretch of silence, Cecil speaks.

“Leonardo da Vinci spent around ten years painting the Mona Lisa's lips,” he says.

Carlos is so surprised by this unexpected scrap of trivia that for a moment he's convinced he's dreaming. He clears his throat and sits a little straighter.

“That's an awfully long time.”

Cecil nods in agreement.

“He was very dedicated. A perfectionist and a procrastinator. Not exactly traits that mix well.”

There is another beat of silence. It stretches beyond comfortable and Carlos feels it's his responsibility to break it this time.

“He used to steal bodies,” he blurts out. Cecil doesn't look at him, but he can see his lips curl up into a smile.

“To study anatomy, yes. Find out where the human soul was. I like Leonardo. So fascinating.”

“Is he your favourite?”

“Favourite?”

“Artist.”

“Oh.” Cecil's face scrunches up in thought. “No. I do admire him and appreciate his work, but I adore the surrealists. Dali. Magritte. Ernst.”

As a child Carlos had been dragged through many an art gallery with his parents on their travels. They felt it important to introduce him to culture. His understanding of art, like theirs, doesn't much expand beyond how aesthetically pleasing each piece is, but he's seen enough to know who Cecil is referring to. While his interests have never lay in the creative fields, Carlos does appreciate art. All forms of it. From the written word to paint on canvas, via sculptures and architecture.

“I like Dali.”

Cecil finally looks at him, and Carlos is rewarded with two rows of teeth in the darkness as he smiles widely.

They fall into routine after that. Cecil's nightmares seem less frequent, but on the occasions he does wake from them, he will come and sit on Carlos' bed. They talk together about different things. Cecil gets passionate about art, hands moving about and voice getting steadily louder. Carlos has to shush him often so he doesn't wake the other two, but he can't help but be enthralled by how passionate Cecil is. In return, he talks about formulae and theories, tries to explain the more complicated stuff as best he can and tells Cecil any trivia he can remember about the people behind the discoveries (Cecil's favourite bits). While the rest of the school is asleep they share laughter and facts until Cecil is no longer afraid to return to his own bed.

*

Carlos hasn't been seeing as much of Cecil lately. They have their late nights talks a few times a week, and have taken to spending the weekends in the city together. Carlos has a greater knowledge of Night Vale now, knows his way around enough that he could go out alone and not get lost. That is, assuming the buildings remain in the same place. He thinks they do, but it's difficult to tell.

A few weeks ago they had gone to the Museum of Forbidden Technologies, which, to Carlos' surprise (although he wonders why anything surprises him any more), was full of what seemed to be perfectly normal and harmless devices. Among them were pocket calculators and an electric whisk. He couldn't find out why they were forbidden as the explanatory plaques had been blacked out with permanent marker.

The weekend just passed Cecil had suggested they go for a stroll through Grove Park. He'd told Carlos it was one of the more popular areas in town. During their walk they had spotted a short, elderly woman, who looked perfectly harmless in her pale peach cardigan and that kind of skirt all old women seem to possess, who had what Carlos can only describe as a demonic creature trailing along behind her. He had been more frightened than he cares to admit, gripping Cecil's arm tightly and nodding towards the creature.

“Carlos, what- Oh. That's just Old Woman Josie. Hello, Josie!” Cecil had called out cheerfully to the old woman and gave her a wave, which she returned. The creature's head had swivelled towards them, and while Carlos couldn't spot its eyes, he could feel them boring into them.

“Cecil,” he said, voice higher than usual. “I was more concerned with the... the _thing_ behind her.”

“That's just one of the angels, Carlos. Pay no mind to them. Technically, we're not meant to know they exist. They've got such a soft spot for Josie, though. It's terribly sweet.”

Sweet is one word Carlos would not have associated with such a being. He was in too much shock to question Cecil further about it.

The most frustrating thing about Night Vale is the lack of explanation for most everything. After his week in the lab, Carlos aced his Chemistry project but got no further with the rocks. All his tests told him they were perfectly normal rocks, and he could find no cause for the mysterious glowing. It makes him uneasy, that logic does not seem to apply to this strange little town and its inhabitants. It goes against everything he's ever believed in.

Carlos doesn't mention this to Cecil anymore. Cecil just assures him that not everything has a reason. Cecil tells him he'd be better off if he stopped fretting over everything. Cecil says that science doesn't have all the answers. (Carlos is a bit offended by this comment, but bites his tongue.)

Not that he has much time to discuss things with Cecil at the moment. Besides classes and meals, Carlos has been seeing less and less of his dorm mate. He disappears in the evenings, returning late, exhausted and with paint splatters on his skin. A shower is about all he can managed before he flops into bed.

It is only a week later, when Cecil comes in late with his art folder that Carlos learns why. He can tell Cecil is full of nervous energy from the way he twitches and fusses about, constantly throwing glances at Carlos as he sets his folder down and goes digging through it. He retrieves an A3 size page from within and holds it against his chest, chewing his lower lip and looking at Carlos once again. Carlos watches him over his book.

Cecil steps forward and holds the page out to him. Carlos sets his book aside and slowly accepts it.

“I, uh. I've been working on this for the past week and, well, I think it's turned out really well. I mean, I had a bit of trouble with some of the colours, which is what took me so long, really. The tones have come out great though, right? And, I mean, I'm really proud of the end result. Not to be narcissistic but I just, I think I managed to-”

“Cecil.” Carlos looks up from the painting in his hands. It's done in acrylics and takes up most of the page. It's Carlos in the lab, face illuminated by the Bunsen burner, expression soft as he looks up at Cecil. There's a blue glow to the whole thing from the flame that Cecil has managed to capture perfectly, and Carlos is a bit in awe of how incredibly lifelike and accurate it is. He mightn't know much about art, but it's obvious how good this is. “This is incredible.”

Cecil cuts off, flushing and looking equal parts pleased and relieved.

“You like it?”

“It's fantastic.” Truth be told, Carlos can't find a word strong enough to portray how good he thinks it is. He's not one for great shows of passion, but something stirs within him at the thought that this is him. Cecil has put so much time and effort into painting him. No one has ever done anything like this for him before. "I love it."

“I want you to have it.”

“What?”

“The painting. I want you to have it.”

“But you put so much time into it,” Carlos says, frowning. “Don't you want it for your portfolio?”

Cecil shakes his head.

“I want you to have it.” He lays his hand over Carlos' and closes their fingers over the edge of the page. “It's yours.”


	10. Chapter 10

 Cecil's heart stutters in his chest when Carlos looks up at him and smiles. He can feel the warmth of his hands beneath his fingers, and is aware that he's probably had his curled around Carlos' for a moment too long. Reluctantly, he moves his hand away.

“Please accept it.”

The truth of the matter is, Cecil doesn't really want anyone else to see the painting. In the photograph he had caught Carlos off guard, managed to capture a freeze frame of his beauty in a moment that only the two of them had been a part of. He'd then put all his energy and talent into recreating that in his art and it felt like an awfully intimate thing. He had intended to present it as part of his work, but by the time he was finished it had become something precious. He feels protective of it now, wants to keep that moment between them. This is his Carlos reincarnated from paper and paint.

“I will. I do. Thank you, Cecil.”

Carlos is smiling and Cecil feels dizzy. It's a different smile from the usual smile Cecil gets. It's the same smile he sees sometimes during their night time conversations, when they're both drowsy and words come easier than they ever could during the day. Carlos will be sleepily murmuring about something, or watching Cecil do the same, and his mouth will be curled up at one side in a soft, genuine smile that makes Cecil's chest ache in the most delightful way.

“Anything for you,” he breathes, too quiet to be heard.

“Sorry?”

“I said it's no problem.” Cecil smiles and turns away, flushing as he heads for the shower. He hadn't meant to say that out loud.

*

“You've never been out of Night Vale?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“I just said no, Carlos.”

There is a moment of silence between them. Carlos seems stunned by this information. Cecil doesn't understand why.

“Do you ever think of leaving?”

“What?”

“Leaving here. Going somewhere else. Travelling. Seeing the world.”

Cecil looks down. They're sitting at the edge of the Canyon, feet hanging over the edge. Carlos had been nervous at first, had been convinced the ground might disappear from beneath them or a sudden freak gust of wind might push them over and to their deaths. Cecil had laughed off these concerns and assured Carlos he'd done this many times before. It was exhilarating to have the massive drop beneath your feet.

“I couldn't do that.”

“Why not?”

“I just couldn't. Not permanently, anyway. It might be nice to travel. For a little while.”

It's a few moments before Carlos speaks again, but the silence is a comfortable one. Their silences always are. Cecil looks away from him, looks out across the Canyon. It's only Carlos' voice that draws his attention back to him.

“We could.”

“Sorry?”

“I mean, if you want. After school. Or, sometime. When we're older. We could travel. Together.”

Cecil smiles, wide and bright. His heart flutters a rapid heartbeat against his ribs. Carlos wants to stay in touch after school. Carlos wants to travel with him. Carlos wants to take him from Night Vale and show him the world.

“Is that a promise?”

“If you'd like.”

“Yeah,” says Cecil. “Yeah, I'd really like that.”

*

“Hey, Cecil?”

Cecil looks up, expecting Carlos. He's leaning against a wall outside the chemistry room, waiting to accompany Carlos to English. However, it is not Carlos his gaze falls upon.

“Hm? Oh. Hello, Earl! How are you?”

“I'm good.”

“How's it going with the scouts?”

“It's going fine.”

“That's good! It's great someone is showing an interest in the younger generation. They are the future, after all.”

Earl smiles at Cecil, and Cecil senses his impatience. He smiles in return, shifting his bag to one shoulder and turning to face Earl properly, leaning his free shoulder against the wall.

“Anyway,” says Cecil, pushing his glasses up his nose. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, the Halloween holiday is coming up soon-”

“Ah yes, I'm so excited. I hear the parade is going to be spectacular this year!- Oh, sorry, go on.”

“Er, I was just wondering, if you wanted, you could come home with me. For the holidays. I know you're always stuck at school by yourself.”

“Oh Earl, that's terribly sweet of you! I won't be alone, though. Carlos is staying as well this year. Sorry, but I can't abandon him. It was lovely of you to offer, though.”

“Oh. Ah. Yes, of course. Carlos.” Earl flushes, hugging his books to his chest. “No, I understand. That's- I just thought I'd offer.”

“And it was a really nice offer.” Cecil touches Earl's arm gently, offering him a warm smile. “You're such a good friend.”

This only causes Earl to blush darker, and he quickly pulls away.

“W-well, I'd better get to my next class. I'll see you at lunch, Cecil.”

“See you later, Earl!”

Cecil watches Earl hurry off down the hall, concerned about his friend's sudden change in mood. He's distracted from these thoughts when the class finally begins to pour out through the door. Carlos smiles when he catches sight of Cecil, slipping away from his classmates to join him.

*

Much to his relief, Cecil finds himself having fewer nightmares. He's glad. He does not miss the fear, does not miss waking up sweating with his heart attempting to thump its way out of his chest. Simultaneously, he's a bit disappointed. The moments he and Carlos share in the middle of the night have quickly become his favourite time. Once his frantic pulse calms to normal and the jittery feeling of things crawling beneath his skin fades he enjoys being so close and comfortable with Carlos immensely. He's well past his awkwardness around his caring and reliable Carlos, and can talk comfortably and with his usual ease. If anything, their night time rendezvous have only succeeded in bringing them closer, and Cecil has come to value Carlos as his closest friend.

He's lying in bed thinking about this, lazily tracing patterns on his stomach with the tips of his fingers. They slip lower, teasing his waistband, considering going further, but he always feels a slight twinge of guilt when he gets off thinking about Carlos. His fingers retreat, skimming along a hipbone and up to his stomach once more.

He can't sleep. It's not a restless kind of awake. It's not the exhausted efforts for sleep when the fear of nightmares are keeping him awake. It's a comfortable kind of awake. A relaxing, floating kind of awake. His stomach is fluttering with the usual ridiculous reaction that Carlos inspires. Cecil brings his hands up, pressing them over his face and grinning against his palms. _Carlos._

After a moment, Cecil rolls onto his side and glances through the small gap in the curtains between his and Carlos' bed. Carlos always leaves them open for him now. He looks at the gap for a moment before pushing himself up into a sitting position. Cecil takes in a steady breath. A soft whimper follows and tears rise in his eyes. Slipping out of bed, he moves between the gap in the curtains.

“Carlos?” He makes his voice soft, lets it break at the end.

“Mm.” The blankets move around and Carlos' head appears from them. His hair is ruffled. He squints at Cecil in sleepy confusion. It's adorable. “Nightmare?”

Cecil nods. Carlos pulls the blanket back to allow him entrance and he quickly crawls in beside him.

“Sorry I woke you.”

“No, no it's fine.” Carlos rubs sleeps from his eyes and muffles a yawn with his hand. Cecil watches him from the corner of his eye and smiles softly.

Carlos is obviously tired tonight. He tries to contribute to the conversation, but his voice is soft and lazy, sentences often trailing off unfinished. Within twenty minutes he's starting to drift off. Cecil lets his own words die on his lips, watching Carlos' head loll back on his neck. He helps lower him into a more comfortable position, smiling and brushing Carlos' hair back from his forehead.

“Good night, my sweet Carlos.”

Cecil intends to slip out from beneath the sheets, but Carlos shuffles onto his side and curls an arm around Cecil's waist. Cecil's heart promptly jumps from his chest into his throat and he releases a strangled noise of adoration. Well, it's not _his_ fault Carlos doesn't want him to leave. Delighted, Cecil wriggles down until he's more comfortably in Carlos' hold. This is most definitely _neat_.

He lies there for the better part of ten minutes before the dizzy rush of excitement fades and his own drowsiness begins to take hold. Cecil rolls his head to the side, looks at Carlos through hooded eyes and smiles. He lets his eyes fall completely shut, feeling safe and protected with Carlos curled around him.


	11. Chapter 11

As Carlos begins to stir, he realises something is different. He's not awake enough yet to be fully aware of another presence beside him, a body pressed against his own, but consciousness is beginning to leak into his mind and he knows that something is different. Cecil shifts and makes a soft noise in his sleep, legs tangled with Carlos'. Carlos jolts awake suddenly in reaction to the movement. He blinks multiple times, groggy and confused, eyes bleary from sleep and without his glasses. Cecil presses his face into Carlos' neck. Carlos tenses up.

He reaches blindly around the bedside table for his glasses before sliding them on. It's alright. They just drifted off last night. It's not a big deal. Yeah, Carlos isn't a big fan of having his space invaded, but it's just Cecil. He trusts Cecil, and besides, it's not like they haven't cuddled up before after one of Cecil's nightmares. It's just a comforting device. Yes. Carlos nods to himself and resolves not to overreact or grow awkward because of this. He pushes himself up to sit against the headboard, Cecil's grip shifting from his arm.

Cecil whines in protest. His eyes crack open and he squints up at Carlos, disgruntled and disorientated, for a few seconds, before he comes around and gives him a soft, sleepy smile. Carlos feels any remains of tension slip from him.

“Morning.”

“Mmm.” Cecil shifts onto his stomach and stretches, back arching like a cat. He yawns widely, ending with an appropriate mewling sound. “Mornin'. Sorry. I must have dropped off here last night.”

“That's alright.”

“Cecil?” Earl's voice comes from near the door of the dorm. Carlos and Cecil look towards it. There's a beat of silence before they hear his footsteps as he crosses to Cecil's bed. “Cecil?”

They hear Earl pause at the foot of Cecil's bed before hesitantly pulling the privacy curtain back.

“Cecil?”

“Yes, Earl?”

“...Are you invisible again?”

“Again?” Carlos asks, looking down at Cecil in disbelief. Cecil makes a vague 'I'll explain later' motion.

“No, I'm over here,” he says. Moments later Earl appears in the gap where Carlos leaves his curtains open for Cecil. His lips part to speak but then remain, silent and open. Carlos shares a quizzical look with Cecil.

“You wanted me?” Cecil prompts. Earl proceeds to blush violently, the tips of his ears darkening to scarlet and his cheeks flushing pink. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he manages to form words.

“Uh, yes- I mean, I'm just- Professor Birmingham, actually, he, uh, he wanted to see you. Before breakfast. If you could spare a moment,” Earl manages to stammer out. He's usually so laid back and easygoing that this behaviour seems odd even to Carlos, who has never been terribly great at reading emotion. Be it his own or other people's.

“Oh! Of course. I'll be down once I get dressed.” Cecil pulls himself up onto his knees, allowing the blanket to slide down off his back. He throws a smile over his shoulder at Earl. “Thanks for telling me.”

“No problem,” Earl says quietly, and promptly disappears.

Cecil looks back at Carlos, forehead wrinkled in confusion or concern, Carlos is not sure which. He shrugs in response.

“Right, I'd better go see what he wants then. I'll see you at breakfast.”

Cecil disappears to get dressed and Carlos heads for a shower. When he comes out, Cecil is gone but Earl is sitting at the base of his bed. He stands when Carlos passes. He looks a bit upset, but his face is set into a look of determination. Carlos slows, glancing at him.

“Carlos.” Earl's voice is soft, but firm. Carlos comes to a complete stop in front of him. “So. You and Cecil.”

“Me and Cecil?” Carlos is not exactly sure what point Earl is trying to make.

“Yeah, look, I just- Cecil is my best friend, okay. He's been my best friend for years.”

Carlos is completely lost. Does Earl think he's trying to steal Cecil away from him? He never meant to do that. If anything, it was Cecil that latched onto Carlos at the beginning. He frowns at Earl, wishing he were clad in something more than a towel. This seems like the kind of conversation that should take place when both parties are fully clothed.

“Okay?” It's not meant to be a question, but it sounds like one.

“Just- Look after him, yeah? Cecil's more sensitive than he lets on. Especially about people he likes. Just don't- Don't mess him around.” Earl's courage seems to leave him after this little speech. He gives Carlos a sharp nod. “I just wanted to make sure. Okay.”

Before Carlos can ask what the hell he is talking about, Earl ducks around him and makes a quick departure. Carlos stands in the center of the room, confused and struggling to comprehend Earl's meaning, until Steve walks in. Then he decides it's probably best to put some clothes on before he thinks about this matter in any more depth.

*

Earl's words stay with Carlos all day. He's distracted during breakfast. Cecil asks him repeatedly if something is wrong, but he smiles and waves his concerns away. Cecil eventually gives in and goes back to excitedly rambling on about the school float in the Halloween parade and how Mr Birmingham has chosen him to help with it.

“It's a bit last minute, but headmaster McDaniels only just decided to enter a float this year. He wants it modelled after himself, which is going to be a bit of a challenge. I'm hoping we can find some way to make it mechanical so all the heads can move.”

Carlos does not question the fact Cecil is talking about multiple heads. He has never seen their headmaster, but he is becoming less and less surprised by Night Vale's weird occurrences.

Carlos tries to pay attention in class but keeps coming back to Earl and what he was trying to tell him. Somehow Carlos gets the feeling that all of Cecil's friends don't get this kind of warning, and besides, they'd been friends long enough now that it would be a little late.

_Especially about people he likes._

Likes? Does that mean romantically? It can't, can it? They're just friends. Cecil doesn't like him.

Does he?

This leads to a whole confusing mess of thoughts as Carlos attempts to reassess his own feelings for Cecil. What if Earl is right, what if Cecil does like him and eventually says something about it? How would Carlos even react? He's never been in a relationship. He's never had much interest in anyone. He kissed a girl once at a Christmas party of one of his parents' friends. It was clumsy and shy, as all inexperienced kisses are, with an awkward attempt at tongue and much clashing of teeth. He kissed her for the sake of saying he'd kissed someone, nothing more.

Carlos tries to imagine kissing Cecil and feels guilty and uncomfortable about it almost immediately. He could be interpreting Earl's words completely wrong and now fantasizing about kissing his friend for no reason at all and that, well, that doesn't sit well with him.

Not that he's opposed to the idea of kissing Cecil.

Interesting.

Like a good scientist, Carlos summons various other potential situations to mind. Variables to be explored so reactions can be observed. Holding Cecil's hand. Stroking Cecil's cheek. Swiping the pad of his thumb along Cecil's lower lip and watching his lips part. He's already woken up tangled together with Cecil, so he doesn't have to imagine that. By the end of class Carlos feels giddy and lightheaded. There is a strange and foreign emotion curling in the pit of his stomach. Carlos is not sure what this means.

He has never been good with emotions. Give him facts and figures. Give him statistics. Give him a mystery with a logical solution and he will solve it, but emotions, well, emotions are a chemical reaction in the brain and Carlos wishes they were as straight forward as simple chemistry. They are not. They are a tangled and barbed mess. They are thoughts that result in feelings, in sensations, in pleasure and pain and a world of possibilities. Emotions do not make sense and while he can thrive on a rational puzzle, emotions have always puzzled him beyond understanding. He even struggles with his own emotions, and surely one should be able to understand their own emotions, right?

“Carlos?” Cecil's face is suddenly before him and Carlos recoils so violently he almost falls off his chair. Cecil shoots Carlos a wounded look for such a reaction. “Class is over, silly.”

“Oh.” Carlos blinks, looks around at the almost empty room and blinks again. “Oh.”

Cecil laughs and ruffles Carlos' hair with perfect ease, entirely unaware of Carlos' last thought process or the way his shoulders tense at the contact.

“You're just not yourself today, are you?” Cecil says it with a smile, but Carlos can see the way his eyes scrunch up behind his glasses, concerned.

“'I'm fine. Tired.”

Cecil smiles and lets it drop.

*

Cecil is on top of him and Carlos can feel him everywhere. One of Cecil's hands is tangled in his hair, and Carlos can feel him tug on the strands, can feel the drag of his nails along sensitive scalp. His other hand is splayed possessively over Carlos' chest, holding him down as Cecil licks along his jaw and nips at his ear with teeth that leave a sharp sting. Cecil's body is pressing down against his, at an angle where hipbones dig into Carlos' and the friction of their hips is delicious. Someone is whimpering. Carlos is vaguely aware it is him.

“Cecil.” Cecil's name is drawn from him on an exhale, more breath than word, and all wrapped up in a plea. “Cecil.”

“My darling Carlos.”

Cecil's breath is hot against his ear. His mouth is dropping warm, wet, open mouthed kisses down along the column of Carlos' neck. His fingers follow the trail of dark hair down to Carlos' navel, circling his bellybutton before drifting lower.

Carlos awakes with a start, gasping and sitting up. He is very, very glad that Cecil is not sharing a bed with him tonight. That would be beyond embarrassing. He's blushing fiercely even now, alone and in the dark, and harder than he has been in a long time.

Well.

That would seem to answer the question of whether or not he is attracted to his best friend.

Fuck.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the lovely and wonderful Charlie, who pressures me into writing and, consequently, increases my productivity by a lot. Updates are a lot more frequent thanks to her constant bothering me to write. Also she does really awesome Night Vale art, which you can see over here: http://crackedblackinc.co.uk/
> 
> Basically, Charlie is great, and I would cover her in red dots on dot day.

Cecil is hectic right up until the school breaks for the holidays, spending hours at a time between the art room and one of the school sheds where they're keeping the school float. Between them, he, Mr Birmingham, and a few of the other art students have managed to construct the main frame for their float. They've even had help from the technology department so that the heads move, much to Cecil's delight.

Now most of the students have gone home for the week and he's been left with the job of getting it painted in time for the parade. It's a privilege, yes, and Cecil is happy to be trusted with something of such importance, but it's also exhausting and terribly stressful, and he's constantly worried he's not going to have it finished in time. He's got the base colours done already, but the detail on the scales is slow and careful work, and there's no way to rush through it.

Carlos makes it a bit more bearable by coming down with him some evenings. He doesn't help, but it's nice having someone to talk to when painting the same general shape over and over. Even just having his presence in the room while he reads or studies is comforting in its own way, and Cecil is always glad when Carlos asks can he come down with him or shows up without prior warning.

On first seeing the float, Carlos had been a little confused. He'd looked at it for several moments before turning to Cecil with a little frown.

“Did you change the design?”

“Uh, nooo.”

“I thought it was supposed to be the headmaster?”

“Uh-huh.”

There was a pause while Carlos looked between Cecil and the float, before he said, quite slowly: “It's a dragon.”

“He, yes. Literally a five headed dragon.”

Carlos looked at him as if expecting further explanation.

“Professor McDaniels is a five headed dragon. Didn't you know that?”

Carlos wouldn't believe him until Cecil dug out an old copy of the school magazine and showed him, at which point he was still sceptical. Cecil laughed off his doubt and told him he'd see at the parade.

*

It's the first Monday of the holidays, and Cecil has been painting since breakfast. It's evening now and the sky is beginning to darken. Carlos is sitting in the corner, on a makeshift bench he'd made out of boxes from the back of the shed. Cecil stretches out, his back and shoulders aching and stiff from hunching over his work. He hears his bones crackle and creak as he moves. Feeling a little looser, he pads over to Carlos and pokes him in the cheek with his brush, leaving a circle of purple paint.

“Hey!” Carlos flinches away from the sudden cold, wet contact. He looks from the brush to Cecil and reaches up to gently touch his cheek. After a second he laughs. “Cecil.”

“Carlos.”

Cecil grins wickedly and quickly dabs another spot on Carlos' forehead. Carlos laughs, batting Cecil's hand away. He drops his book and hops to his feet as Cecil attempts to lunge forward with the paintbrush again. They're both laughing as Carlos catches Cecil's wrists and tries to hold him back where he can't reach. Cecil pushes his brush through his fingers, leaving a trail of paint down Carlos' arm.

“If that's how you want to play,” Carlos says, voice low. He gives Cecil a light push backwards, just enough to give him room to slip past, and dashes over to where Cecil was working. He'd set up a table along the side of his float to hold his supplies, so there's lots of brushes and paint lying across newspaper. Carlos grabs one, dunks it in red paint and turns back to Cecil. Cecil lets out a little squeak, stepping back and giggling.

“Carlos!”

There's nowhere for him to run as Carlos comes closer. He's backed into a corner. He wields his brush in front of him like a sword, but most of the paint is now smeared across Carlos' skin.

“You started this game, Cecil,” Carlos says, proceeding slowly. He stops a few steps away from Cecil. They stare each other down for several seconds, before Carlos grins and closes the space between them.

Cecil is all screaming and flailing arms as he tries to fight Carlos off, which really only succeeds in getting himself more covered with paint. It's only when he trips over the boxes and attempts to grab onto Carlos to save himself, resulting in them ending up in a heap of tangled limbs between collapsed boxes and mechanical parts, that their paint war ends. Cecil is covered in red smudges and dots, and Carlos has gained a few to go with his purple marks. Cecil shifts beneath Carlos, who moves off of him with a groan.

“Sorry. Are you alright?”

“No need to apologise, Carlos, I'm perfectly fine,” Cecil says, laughter colouring his words. “Well. I landed on some kind of gear, which is going to bruise, but other than that!”

Cecil sits up and straightens his glasses, which had been knocked sideways in the fall. He looks at Carlos with a grin. The space between Carlos' eyebrows is furrowed in that all too familiar way as he frowns at Cecil, eyes soft and concerned behind his glasses. Cecil gives his arm a light squeeze.

“I'm fine, and hey, at least I know you love me.”

“Wh-what?” The frown deepens, and Carlos' expression shifts to one of confusion.

“Red dots,” Cecil says, pointing at his face. When Carlos doesn't reply he sighs heavily. “You know, like dot day?”

“I- What are you talking about?”

“Dot day! You don't have dot day where you're from?”

“Apparently not.”

“Oh. Well. You stick red dots on things you love,” Cecil explains, blushing a little, much to his dismay. He indicates his face again. “As such.”

“Ah.”

Well. Carlos looks a little flustered too, so this is less mortifying than it could be, right?

“Yeah, and blue dots on things you don't.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you do- the dot thing?”

“Why do we do anything?” Cecil gives Carlos a wry smile and pushes himself up onto his feet, stepping out from between the boxes and gears. “I'd better get back to work.”

*

Cecil is lying on his back, knees bent up, head hanging upside down over the side of the bed, Carlos sits cross-legged across from him, watching. They have the dorm to themselves now with everyone gone.

“So, what are you dressing up as?”

“Oh, I don't usually dress up for Halloween.”

Cecil is shocked by this announcement. His expression turns to one of utmost seriousness, and he rolls over onto his stomach, leaning forward across the gap between their beds.

“Carlos!”

“What?”

“You have to dress up.”

“Cecil-”

“I mean, do you _want_ to be possessed by the demonic spirits of the dead, is that it? Do you want to endure the torturous experience of having an unsettled soul steal your body from you? It is not pleasant, Carlos, and the exorcisms are particularly nasty. I knew a girl who was possessed by such a stubborn spirit it broke her spine when they attempted to get rid of it.”

“I don't think-”

“It's not about what you think, Carlos. It's a safety precaution. You have to dress up! Disguises are compulsory.”

“Disguises?”

“Yes! To disguise yourself as one of them so they'll leave you alone. Duh. Wow, it's really surprising you've survived this long. I'm impressed.”

Carlos frowns, casting his eyes down, and Cecil feels a bit guilty. Still, this isn't like an outsider thing. Everyone should know about Halloween! The line between the dead and the living blurring. Otherworldly creatures wandering the Earth (more so than usual!). Spirits and demons and all kind of wicked things out to cause trouble. How can Carlos not know this? Poor, beautiful, oblivious Carlos. It's a good thing he has Cecil to look after him.

“I'll help you get something sorted,” Cecil says, with a determined nod.

*

Halloween is upon them in no time at all. Cecil manages to get the float done in time _and_ help Carlos get together a costume. He'd had to convince him of the dangers of going out on Halloween without a disguise for a start, and then Carlos had wanted to be something science related, of all things!

“How is an atom going to blend in with the living dead, restless spirits, with the creatures of nightmares, Carlos, really?” Cecil had asked, quite frustrated that Carlos was not grasping the importance of this.

Eventually they'd come to some form of a compromise when Cecil came across several diagrams of different layers of the human body in Carlos' biology book. He'd quite liked the idea of painting Carlos to look like he'd been skinned. Carlos wasn't fond on this idea, but he agreed to let Cecil paint him as a (n anatomically correct) skeleton.

Cecil spent his days working on the float and a few hours each night carefully copying the skeletal body from the diagrams onto a t-shirt and shorts. On Halloween he paints the rest of the bones on Carlos' own skin, delighting in an excuse to be so close to him for so long. He even gets to stroke Carlos' beautiful mane of gorgeous, silky, luscious, _perfect_ hair back from his forehead while he's painting his face. Once he's done, Cecil hurries to turn himself into a rotten corpse, complete with intestines spilling out of his side and skin peeling away to reveal the shiny white of skull peeking from beneath his hair.

“How did you manage that?” Carlos asks, nose scrunched up in disgust, but it's clear from his tone that he's impressed.

Cecil grins, gums bloody.

“I have many talents,” he teases. “C'mon, don't want to be late for the parade!”

If Night Vale is scary normally, on Halloween it's even worse. The sounds of screaming a constant litany in the night air, various shadowy shapes and odd patches of light flickering in and out of view, the citizens all clad in terrifying attire.

“Don't talk to anyone,” Cecil murmurs, taking a light hold of Carlos' wrist so as not to smudge the paint. “Never know who's possessed. Never know who's a real creature.”

Carlos allows himself to be tugged along. He's stopped questioning, for which Cecil is grateful. As they're trying to find a space that's a safe distance apart from anyone else littering the side of the road, a bloody mess of a creature runs up to them. Cecil abruptly stops, pulling Carlos back beside him.

“Cecil! I saw your float, I just wanted to tell you it's amazing.” As the creature draws closer to them, Cecil recognises the voice as Earl's. He's still a little wary, grip remaining firm on Carlos' wrists. “You guys look great by the way.”

Earl grins at them, which looks oddly eerie, especially framed by the grey-green-yellow of his rotting skin. He's dressed in a torn and bloody scouts uniform. A few children linger behind him with large, empty eyes. He looks Cecil and Carlos over, smile faltering momentarily before it returns as brightly as ever.

“Thanks,” says Cecil, dismissive. He glances past Earl. “What's with the kids?”

“Oh! The scouts are going to be in the parade this year. Isn't that great? The city council sent a few of their messenger children to join in with us. They, er- thought it might be enjoyable for them.”

The three of them look back at the dead eyed children, who stare blankly in return.

“We'll keep an eye out for you,” says Carlos eventually.

“Well, I'd better get into position, Kevin will be wondering where I'm at.”

“Kevin?” While Cecil is not aware of everyone that lives in their little city, he does have a decent idea of most of the inhabitants, and he's never heard of a Kevin before. Especially not involved with the scouts.

“Ah, yeah, well, he's working with the scouts in Desert Bluffs-”

“Desert Bluffs!”

“Er, yes, we've been doing an integration programme. You know, encouraging friendly relationships-”

“Friendly relationships! With Desert Bluffs!”

“Uh. Yes.”

“I've never heard such nonsense! Everyone knows they're just a pack of- of- of yahoos! Over there.”

“They're not that bad, Cecil. The children have actually had a great time together.”

“And let me guess, this Kevin is the leader of the little group of vagabonds!”

“Cecil, there's no need to get so worked up about it. Kevin's like me, he's just helping out with the younger kids.”

“I'd never have taken you to be such a traitor, Earl Harlan!” Cecil exclaims, turning his head away in disgust. “The betrayal is too much to bear.”

“Cecil-”

“ _Desert Bluffs._ ”

“That's exactly the prejudice we're working to eliminate in our-”

“Earl?” A new, upbeat voice breaks into their dispute. Cecil and Earl's heads immediately turn towards the sound. It takes Carlos a moment to realise where it's coming from. The children continue to stare blankly ahead. “Oh, there you are.”

The new boy moves to Earl's side. He's dressed in similar attire to Earl, and it's impossible to know what he looks like beneath all the make-up and blood. He smiles brightly at both Cecil and Carlos.

“Oh, are these your friends?”

Earl, who is clearly still upset from their argument, gives a curt nod. The new boy's eerie smile drops into a frown.

“Is something wrong?” Brief pause. “Nothing has attacked you, has it?”

“No, Kevin,” Earl says, sniffing sharply. “I'm fine.”

“Oh good! Wouldn't want our best scout injured now, would we?” Kevin taps Earl's nose playfully and Earl laughs in response. “They want us to get in position.”

“Okay. Cecil, Carlos... I guess I'll see you back at school.”

Cecil remains stony faced and silent. Carlos glances between the pair of them before smiling at Earl. Cecil is stung by this double betrayal. His beautiful Carlos! He should be taking Cecil's side!

“Good luck in the parade. We'll be cheering you on.”

“It was lovely meeting you both,” Kevin says, inclining his head politely. “Perhaps we'll be seeing more of each other.”

“I certainly hope not,” Cecil says, once they've disappeared back into the crowd, creepy children trailing behind them. “Desert Bluffs! I can't believe it!”

“What's wrong with Desert Bluffs?” Carlos' tone is tentative, as if he knows this is going to be a tender subject. He is correct. Cecil immediately turns on him.

“What is _right_ with Desert Bluffs? Nothing, that's what. Those guys suck.”

“Well, he- Kevin, was it? - seemed alright.”

“You are dead to me, Carlos Rivera.”

“Cecil.”

“Dead.”

“Don't be like that.”

It's a good five minutes before Cecil finally breaks his stubborn silence.

“I suppose I can forgive you,” he says rather sullenly, pouting at Carlos. “You're not from here. You don't understand.”

He's soon distracted from his sulking by the parade. It's led by a group of Old Woman Josie's angels, who everyone admires but who they do not openly acknowledge. After all, angels do not exist. There's a number of floats in the parade. A grotesque pizza float from Big Rico, an eerie float of curious machinery from The Museum of Forbidden Technology, a float that is nothing more than a trailer with a decapitated eagle carcass laid out, wings stretched open, on its surface, as well as various others. Sprinkled among the floats are horrible and disfigured creatures that may or may not be citizens in costume. It's always so hard to tell. There's also several groups of hooded figures, Earl and his scout group, and Professor McDaniels prowling along in front of the school's float.

“Is that a-”

“Five headed dragon, yes. I told you, didn't I?”

“The float looks really incredible,” Carlos says after several beats of silence. “All your hard work paid off.”

“It does look fantastic, doesn't it?” Cecil indulges in a few little excited jumps as Hirem rears back one of his five heads and blows a stream of fire into the sky. His other heads roar loudly as the mechanical dragon above him mimics the movements. Cecil does a little victory dance at how great his float turned out. Carlos smiles at the display.

After the parade ends, everyone is quick to disperse and head back to the safety of their homes. Being out late on Halloween is just asking for trouble.

With the school being so empty, Cecil and Carlos manage to get a common room to themselves. Cecil hauls blankets down from their room and makes them a makeshift nest from duvets, pillows and couch cushions, while Carlos manages to get a fire going in the large fireplace. They curl together in their mess of blankets and watch the flickering flames. Carlos wants to wash off the paint, but Cecil tells him he has to stay in disguise until midnight.

“So, what do we do now?” Carlos asks. The faint sounds of screaming, wailing, shrieking can still be heard from outside, beneath the howl of the wind.

“What do you want to do?” Cecil tilts his head, looking up at Carlos. They're sitting close. Close enough that Cecil can feel the length of Carlos' body mere inches from his. He shifts as if rearranging himself and their legs press together.

“We could tell ghost stories?”

“Ghost- stories?”

“Yeah. Actually, I found a book-” Carlos reaches behind him for the bag he brought down and digs out a dusty volume. “Of Poe in the library. I thought you'd like him.”

“Oh, I love his poetry.”

“Have you read any of his short stories?”

Cecil shakes his head no.

“They're really good. I thought we could read a few.”

Cecil smiles and leans his head against Carlos' shoulder, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Will you read to me, Carlos?”

Carlos laughs.

“Of course, Cecil.”

Carlos reads through the entirety of The Tell-Tale Heart. Cecil listens carefully, 'ohhh'-ing and 'ahh'-ing in all the appropriate places, enjoying the soft rhythm of Carlos' voice washing over him.

“I liked that one. I think something similar happened here a few years ago. Can we have another?”

“Only if you'll read it with me this time?” Carlos turns his head to meet Cecil's eyes, and their faces are so close he can feel the warm, sweet rush of Carlos' breath against his face. Stifling a whimper, Cecil nods.

Carlos shifts the book so it is balanced between them, resting his head on top of Cecil's. Together they read William Wilson, Cecil stopping constantly to try and guess the ending. He gets pretty close after a few guesses, but Carlos refuses to confirm or deny his theories.

“Oh, well, I basically said that, didn't I?” Cecil says when they're finished.

“Close enough,” Carlos agrees with a little laugh. He closes the book and sets it aside. He stretches, and for a moment Cecil is convinced Carlos is going to put his arm around him. His heart beats a little quicker. It is terribly upsetting when Carlos' arms return to his side.

“So how was your first Night Vale Halloween, my dear Carlos?”

“Hmm.” Carlos takes a moment to consider his answer. “I'm just glad I was with you. I wouldn't have known half of what to do otherwise.”

Cecil sort of stops hearing beyond 'glad I was with you'. The fire is no longer roaring so much as crackling, caught in the stage between flames and embers, but it still gives a warm orange glow to their faces. With hooded eyes, Cecil stares into Carlos' face, and not for the first time is he left breathless by the sight of him. But this time, Carlos stares back, and, after what feels like an eternity of Carlos looking deep into his eyes, the other boy leans forward and kisses Cecil, soft but firm.

And the world fizzes out.


	13. Chapter 13

The taste of face paint. That is what the kiss is like. After the tingling, numbing terror of _ohmygod I am doing this I am actually doing this I am an idiot_ , after the dizzying rush that comes with the knowledge that he is kissing Cecil, after all that romantic novel whirlwind of emotion (which only lasts a mere few seconds), Carlos is aware of the waxy taste of face paint.

It's not an amazing kiss by any stretch of the imagination, and he would never rate it as such. It is clumsy and impulsive. Their noses bump and their glasses click together, and Cecil is emitting some kind of strangled squeak beneath him, but he's not pulling away, and that's something. That's enough to make the fluttering in Carlos' stomach intensify.

Several moments pass before he realises he is not breathing. He is not doing much of anything, really, just leaning in with his mouth pressed to Cecil's, lips partially parted and the taste of paint of his tongue. Cecil seems frozen beneath him. The squeaking has stopped and he is now silent and unmoving. Carlos slowly moves back, feeling heat flush his cheeks, feeling his heart stuttering against his rib cage, painfully aware of every inch of his being and pretty sure he is going to be sick from the amount of sensations currently flooding him.

Cecil's eyes open slowly, glazed and out of focus. His glasses are slightly lopsided. His mouth is half open and smudged with black now, from Carlos' paint. He is staring at Carlos in a dazed kind of way. Carlos isn't sure what this means. Carlos can't even be sure of Cecil's expression beneath all the paint. He shifts, uncomfortably, very much regretting giving in to the impulse of kissing Cecil now that it is over. Not that he regrets the kiss itself. Just the stupid decision. Very stupid.

“Er. Sorry.”

Suddenly, Cecil's dazed expression shatters.

“Darling Carlos! Why would you apologise for the most perfect, lovely, incredible kiss that there ever has been?”

Carlos is at least 98% certain that their kiss was none of those things, but hey, at least Cecil isn't freaking out, and that's something.

“I just meant, uh, sorry for kissing you.”

“Never be sorry for kissing me, Carlos. Never. Feel free to kiss me whenever you want. Feel free to kiss me again right now. Unless... Do you not want to kiss me?” Cecil's bright grin suddenly drops, and he stares at Carlos with wide, wounded eyes. “Did you not like that?”

“No, no! I- I did, Cecil. I really did.”

“Oh, good. No problem then.”

And then suddenly Cecil is hovering over him, pressing him into the couch cushions, and the taste of face paint is back. Carlos can't say he minds terribly.

The second kiss is a little less awkward and a lot smoother, possibly because Cecil is taking control of this one and he seems a bit more confident than Carlos. His fingers slide into Carlos' hair and he emits a soft sound of delight into the press of their mouths. Carlos moves his hands to Cecil's waist, resting lightly, afraid of making a wrong move. Cecil hums his approval and then his tongue is sliding along Carlos' lower lip, soft and teasing. His lips part automatically and then Cecil's tongue is in his mouth, pressing against his own and he feels like they are spinning.

Eventually the need to breathe becomes rather pressing and Carlos moves away, lightly panting. Cecil's face is close, eyes impossibly dark behind his glasses, pupils blown. He licks his lips teasingly slow. Carlos swallows. Cecil smiles and trails his fingers along the side of his scalp.

“Sweet, beautiful Carlos.”

“Cecil.” And yes, okay, it doesn't really have the same effect as Cecil's flow of adjectives, but Carlos doesn't know how to put the rush of adrenaline pounding through his veins into words. Doesn't know how to explain the high Cecil is making him feel. He settles for his name again. “Cecil.”

“Yes?”

“What are we doing?”

“Well, right now we are talking, Carlos. A shame, really, when we could still be kissing.”

As if to prove his point, Cecil leans in and presses a light, sweet kiss to Carlos' mouth. Carlos blinks a few times in quick succession, inhaling sharply.

“ _Cecil_. That's what I meant. Are we- We were-” Carlos takes a moment to calm himself and gather his thoughts. Calming breath in. Soothing exhale. Okay. “Friends don't kiss, Cecil.”

“Friends could kiss. I'm sure there's plenty of friends that kiss. We were just kissing and we are friends, aren't we?”

“Cecil.” Carlos thinks he should probably be saying something more than Cecil's name on repeat, but his tongue keeps curling around it automatically. “This is something. Right?”

Oh God. How do people ever get into relationships? How does anyone ever ask anyone out? It is a surprise to Carlos that there are so many couples in the world, because this is painfully awkward and horrible and he kind of wants to roll into the fire. At least the face paint is disguising how flushed he can feel himself getting.

Cecil's finally drops the playfulness and looks at Carlos with a serious expression, although one of his hands continues curling Carlos' hair around his fingers.

“Do you want it to be?”

“I-” Carlos pauses, considers how Cecil has been plaguing his thoughts lately. All of a sudden consuming his mind. He thinks of how difficult resisting the urge to kiss him is and how good it had felt when he'd finally given in and done it. Not perfect, no. Not the kind of fireworks he's read or heard about, but good. So, so good in an awkward, clumsy, dizzying way. “Yes. I definitely do. Er- If that would be alright with you.”

“Carlos,” says Cecil, and his voice is low, tone soft and serious. “Is this you asking me out?”

“I, uh, I guess it is.”

“Well? Go on, then.”

Is Cecil actually going to make him do this? Carlos raises an eyebrow. Cecil stares back at him, patient and expectant. Yes. Yes, he is. With a sigh, Carlos complies.

“Do you-” Oh God, he can't believe he's saying this. It sounds so stupid coming out of his mouth in actual words. He finishes in a rush. “-wanttobemyboyfriend?”

“ _YESSS_!” Cecil practically squeals the word, and then his mouth is pressing hard and enthusiastic against Carlos' again. Carlos laughs, breathless, into Cecil's mouth.

Maybe kissing Cecil wasn't such a stupid idea after all.

*

When they go into town that weekend they are both aware it is different. They have not spoken about it, but Carlos knows, he just knows, that this is their official first date. He's a little nervous. Only a little. He's been out in the city too many times with Cecil to get very worked up about it. It's just Cecil. Cecil with his enthusiastic mouth and (what Carlos thinks might be a slightly unhealthy) fixation with his hair.

They go to Big Rico's, and Carlos is starting to get used to the goo that is basically everything on the menu. Enough that it no longer makes him feel ill when he swallows it. Cecil holds his hand across the table, and it's a bit awkward having to do everything with one hand, but he doesn't say. It's worth it for the way Cecil keeps beaming at him as if Christmas has come early.

Afterwards they go to the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex. Carlos has never been here before, but he has been bowling. He hopes it's the same in Night Vale. He hopes the balls don't have explosives in them or anything ridiculous like that. Luckily, his hopes are answered and it's just plain old bowling. Carlos has never been so relieved about something as mundane.

Carlos is actually rather good at this. Cecil is... well, Cecil is enthusiastic, as he is with everything.

“Oh. I missed again,” he says, after tossing the ball halfway down the aisle. He turns to face Carlos and pouts. “How do you always manage to hit them?”

“Here, let me show you.” Carlos comes to stand behind Cecil. With a hand on his hip, he guides him into position. Leaning against his back, Carlos takes hold of the wrist of the arm Cecil bowls with. “Lean forward. Now, pull back and let go _gently_. You're throwing it too hard.”

They let the ball go together and it rolls down the aisle, only slightly off center.

“Carlos! I did it! Look, look, I knocked down four at the one go.” Cecil turns, bouncing excitedly. He throws his arms around Carlos' neck and kisses him firmly on the mouth. Carlos is still caught off guard by these attacks. “Okay, your turn.”

It is as Carlos is moving to pick up his ball that he hears it.

“Earl, isn't that your friend over there?”

He glances up at the sound of that cheery voice from Halloween and almost drops the ball on his foot.

The boy is _Cecil_. But he's not. But he definitely looks like him. His eyes and his hair are dark as opposed to Cecil's light, but everything else about their faces are the same. He has the same style of glasses and he's even wearing an oversized knitted cardigan in rustic red, the same kind of cardigan Cecil constantly wears with his art shirts (and how these people are even wearing knitwear in the desert, Carlos cannot understand). Carlos looks between the two of them to double check and, yes, definitely looks like Cecil. Cecil who looks just as stunned as Carlos, standing tense and silent near his shoulder.

Kevin moves closer to them and then freezes at the sight of Cecil as he seems to come to the same realisation Carlos and Cecil have already reached.

Carlos blinks several times.

Kevin still looks like Cecil's double.

Well, weirder things have happened. A lot weirder. A lot of things. He wonders why anything surprises him any more.

Earl joins them a few moments later and he is the only one that seems unsurprised by the similarity between his room mate and new friend.

“Hey Cecil. Hey Carlos. You remember Kevin?”

“Uh,” says Carlos. Words. Words would be good. “Yeah. Hi.”

“From _Desert Bluffs_ ,” Cecil hisses, anger apparently more powerful than his shock. Carlos touches his wrist lightly in an attempt to calm him down.

“Yes.” There's a defensive bite to Earl's tone. A challenge wrapped up in a single word. He raises his chin and stares defiantly at Cecil. Cecil glares back. Carlos feels a bit like he's caught in the middle of something, but he's not too sure what that something is.

“So what are you guys up to?” he says, just to break the tension.

Kevin's face slowly twists back into a wide grin, but his eyes are still locked on Cecil's face.

“We just thought we'd have a day out before school starts again. Get to know each other outside of Scouts.” His eyes finally flick to back Carlos. Even though they are so much darker than Cecil's, they are still eerily similar. He feels uncomfortable beneath Kevin's gaze.

“Well don't let us interrupt your _date_.” Cecil grips Carlos by the elbow, stepping closer to him, angling his body between Carlos and Kevin. Earl blushes fiercely at his comment. Kevin's smile only widens. Carlos continues to feel awkward and unsure of what to do.

“Or us, yours,” Kevin says, wrapping his arm around Earl's waist. Poor Earl looks like he's about to combust. He manages to mumble a goodbye before Kevin leads him off down along the aisles, arm remaining firmly around his waist.

Cecil has his arms folded over his chest and is glaring after the pair of them.

“I don't really feel like bowling any more.”

*

Things don't change much. Not really. Cecil now takes every opportunity he can to initiate impromptu make out sessions. In their study cubicles, hidden between the back shelves of the library, at the side of the church where no one can see them. Carlos can't really find it in himself to protest these attacks. Cecil is always greatly enthusiastic in his kissing, pressing and tugging and leading until Carlos is breathless and dizzy. He wouldn't have expected it, but he's definitely not complaining.

He's started crawling into Carlos' bed every night, claiming that they should be making full advantage of cuddling time before everyone comes back. He does not stop when the holidays are over. Carlos doesn't complain. It's nice falling asleep with Cecil all tangled around him, with lazy, sleepy kisses pressed to the corner of his mouth.

Things don't change much, but they're different. Good different. Definitely good different.

Then the biting starts.

If Carlos ever made the mistake of thinking Cecil were not possessive, then that was a grave error on his part. After the first week or so Cecil's favourite past time becomes pressing him against whatever surface they are near - be it a bed, a wall, the talking tree on the grounds – and biting bruises into his neck. Since Carlos' skin is so dark this takes quite a bit of force and persistence. Carlos thinks he should maybe tell Cecil to stop sometime, but once Cecil's mouth is against his neck and his teeth are on his throat, all coherent thoughts fall out of Carlos' head.

“What did you get mauled by?” Steve asks him one morning, when he's coming from the bathroom. Carlos feels himself blush automatically.

“Uh-”

“Mind your own business, _Steve Carlsberg._ ” Cecil is all of a sudden at his side, gripping his elbow and tugging him away from Steve. “Just because some of us get more action than you.”

To say Carlos is mortified is a bit of an understatement. But once Cecil gets him inside their privacy curtain, he is kissing him with a sudden heated determination, and it is so difficult to stay mad at him.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Charlie. Just assume anything Night Vale related I write is for Charlie. Sweet, beautiful, perfect Charlie, who is oh so lovely and supportive, and keeps me writing even when I feel like everything is dumb.

Cecil has never been happier. Sweet, beautiful Carlos is now _his_ caring, reliable, handsome Carlos, and it is so wonderful. That he is now allowed to touch, to kiss and caress, to tangle his fingers in that glorious mane and mark that flawless skin as his own. It is everything he has wanted and he is in his element.

“Cecil,” Carlos says his name like a sigh, and the sound of his voice is music, is the sweetest melody that Cecil has ever heard. He presses himself closer and bites harder. Carlos hisses above him, fingers clenching and unclenching in Cecil's hair, sending delicious little sparks of pain through his scalp.

Somehow during their kiss they had ended up on the bed (that somehow being Cecil pushing Carlos backwards while distracting him with his tongue), Carlos on his back, with Cecil's body laid out along the length of his. His mouth is against Carlos' throat. He can feel his pulse fluttering beneath his tongue, beating blood around his darling's body in a strong, steady beat. Cecil sucks hard on the pulse point, holds Carlos in place with a hand in his hair and sinks his teeth in.

If Steve Carlsberg wants to make dumb comments Cecil will give him something to talk about. Stupid Steve. Always ruining everything. Always sticking his big Dumbo ears and stubby nose in where they're not wanted.

It's a moment before Cecil realises he is growling into Carlos' neck. Carlos either doesn't notice or doesn't mind.

“Cecil, we're going to miss breakfast.”

“Don't care.”

“Ce- Oh. _Cecil._ ”

Cecil takes complete delight in making Carlos lose control like this, to the point where he can hardly form words. It's the most brilliant and powerful feeling. He laps soothingly over the bruise when he's done, larger and darker than the others. Carlos looks even more beautiful with Cecil's marks all over him. His own personal art painted with teeth and tongue and lips. He sighs softly, his breath ghosting over the bruise as he trails his fingers lightly down over Carlos' throat. Carlos swallows as he does so, Adam's apple shifting beneath Cecil's fingertips.

“Cecil. We should go.”

Cecil sighs again.

“Fine.”

*

Over time he grows accustomed to the fact that he and Carlos are a couple now, an actual _couple_ , wow! His disbelief fades and it becomes another fact of life. The void is endless, existence is meaningless, and he and Carlos are a couple. It's no less delightful a fact, and it still makes him giddy to think about sometimes, but as with all things he grows used to it.

The touching and kissing and ability to mark never lose their excitement or appeal.

They're sitting together on Carlos' bed. Carlos is on his stomach, reading, Cecil's fingers tangled in his hair as he sketches with his other hand. It's not exactly the easiest position to work in, but it's a more appealing option than moving to his own bed.

Steve had come in earlier, but after Cecil had glared at him for a solid five minutes he'd decided he was better off out of the dorm. Good. Cecil doesn't need him ruining his and Carlos' lovely atmosphere.

“And this is where we sleep.” Earl's voice floats in from the hall. Curious, both Cecil and Carlos look towards the door.

“Are you leading me to your bed, my sweet? How forward.”

“N-no. Shut up!”

Cecil knows that voice accompanying Earl's. Is far more familiar with it than he'd like to be. He immediately tenses. Carlos sets a hand on his knee, looking from the door to Cecil's face. Cecil doesn't pay any mind, baring his teeth as Earl walks through the door with _Kevin_.

“What is _he_ doing here?” he hisses, raising up onto his knees, body subtly shifting into an aggressive stance, because that is a citizen of Desert Bluffs! In their dorm! Where they _sleep_!

Not only that, but Cecil does not like Kevin at all. He doesn't like that he looks like him. He doesn't like that he's associating with his friend. He especially does not like any interaction that passes between him and Carlos, no way no sir. Cecil is the only Cecil-looking creature that Carlos should have eyes for. Not this evil, dark haired imposter!

Earl, _the betrayer!_ , stops once he's stepped inside the door. Kevin is at his elbow, laughter still colouring his face while all the humour vanishes from Earl's. There's still a dusting of pink across his cheeks. Flirting with the enemy! Cecil has never been so appalled. Earl looks guilty and a little scared at the sight of Cecil, but the flicker of emotion only lasts a few seconds before he raises his chin defiantly.

“Kevin is here to see me.”

“Yes, darling Earl here,” Kevin says, reaching up to stroke his fingers through Earl's hair as he speaks. “Was just showing me around your school. It certainly is a beautiful building.”

Cecil notices the way Earl subtly leans into the contact, the way his eyes move to Kevin's face, wide and bright and adoring. The way he looks at Carlos. It would be adorable if it weren't with that twisted creature that Cecil feels such contempt for. Kevin smiles back at Earl (if you could call it a smile, which Cecil does not) and presses his fingers against his scalp.

“We're not supposed to have any outsiders in the school.”

“I spoke with the guards. They said it was alright if Kevin came to visit. Really, Cecil, I don't know what you're getting so worked up about. We'll leave if we're in your way.”

“You're not in the way,” says Carlos, and Cecil feels the ache of betrayal in his chest. Like knives. Like the hungry and ferocious teeth of the wild, multiple headed desert dogs tearing him apart.

“Carlos!”

“What? They're not.” He lowers his voice and gives Cecil's wrist a light tug. “C'mon, Cecil, don't make a big deal out of this.”

“It _is_ a big deal.”

“You know what, Cecil? You can save your breath, because we don't have to stand around and listen to this, and we're not going to.” With that little outburst, Earl boldly takes Kevin's hand and tugs him out of the room.

Carlos lets out a soft sigh.

“You shouldn't have done that.”

“Carlos!” Cecil's voice breaks around the word, high and shocked.

“Look, I know you have a problem with him for whatever reason-”

“Because he's-”

“Please, Cecil. Just listen to me for a minute.”

Cecil falls into a reluctant silence, folding his arms over his ribs like a sulking child.

“Earl's your friend. No, don't make that face. You might be angry with him now, but he is your friend, and you mightn't have noticed, but this is easily the happiest he's been since school started. Why can't you just let him be happy? If you don't like Kevin, fair enough, but you don't have to ruin it for Earl.”

As annoyed as Cecil is, Carlos' words do make a certain amount of sense. He has to grudgingly accept that. He also doesn't want to fight with his lovely scientist. Fighting is wasted time. Cecil hates the idea of fighting with Carlos, especially over something as stupid as Earl and the fact he has befriended a citizen of Desert Bluffs. Cecil supposes it could have been worse. He could have brought an Incubus back with him. They're always messy to deal with.

“Just promise me you'll make an effort to be nicer, for Earl?” Carlos sits up, taking a hold of Cecil's hand between his own. Cecil remains silent. “For me?”

“You know I would do anything for you, my dear Carlos.”

“Then do this.”

A beat of silence. A heavy sigh.

“Fine. I'll try.”

*

The next time Cecil bumps into Kevin, he is alone in the library, and why that monstrosity is wandering around _their_ library as if he belongs there makes anger burn Cecil's insides. Still, he told Carlos he would try to get along with Kevin and thus try he will. He gives a polite little nod and a curt 'hello' and is planning to leave it at that when suddenly Kevin is right in his space, and he is pressed back against a bookcase.

“Hello, darling. We meet again. Have you missed me?” Cecil bares his teeth, prepares to growl in response, but then Kevin's arm is across his throat and he is barrelling on. “No, of course you didn't. I don't know what I've done to you, but I really don't appreciate the way you've been acting. It's been upsetting Earl. I can't have that. You understand. I see the way you look at sweet, handsome Carlos, yes?”

“Get off of me,” Cecil growls, clawing at Kevin's arm. He doesn't seem to notice. He only smiles in response, wide and creepy. It makes Cecil's insides twist uncomfortably. He hates hearing Carlos' name fall from that wicked mouth.

“I just want you to know, if you continue to upset Earl I will not stand by and watch.” Kevin leans in closer, his lips ghosting along Cecil's ear. “It's so upsetting when the object of your adoration is distressed. Perhaps you need to know what it feels like before you understand.”

“If you do anything to Carlos, I will-”

“Calm down, firecracker. It's really quite simple. You fix things with Earl, and I have no problem with you. Why, I see no reason we can't be friends!”

“As if I would ever want to be friends with _you_.”

“Suit yourself, but I do mean it. You can dislike me all you want, but precious Earl has done nothing.”

Kevin slowly releases Cecil from his hold. Cecil immediately shoves him away, hard. Kevin tips his head back and laughs, soft and eerie. Angry and, quite frankly, a bit frightened, Cecil crouches to retrieve the books he had dropped. He glares at Kevin, begins a scathing remark, thinks the better of it and storm past him, their shoulders hitting together.

“Just remember what I said, Cecil. I'm not joking.”

Void damn _Desert Bluffs_.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Charlie, as always. My dorky art student.

Carlos notices that something is up. He's not sure what it is, but Cecil is uncharacteristically silent and sullen. Yes, he is prone to fits of huffing every so often, but as far as Carlos knows, he has done nothing to prompt this kind of response. He's not exactly ignoring Carlos, but he's only answering in vague humming sounds of agreement or acknowledgement, angled away from Carlos and hunched over his sketchbook. Something has to be wrong.

Carlos finally gets up off his own bed and crosses to Cecil. He sits beside him and gently rests a hand on his shoulder.

“Cecil.”

“Mm?” Cecil doesn't look up at him, but his pencil does still in his hand. Carlos rubs his fingers lightly into Cecil's shoulder and feels him relax fractionally beneath his touch.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.”

Cecil has gone tense beneath his fingers again. That's obviously a lie.

“You know if something has happened you can tell me.”

For several moments Cecil does not move, does not answer, does not even breathe from what Carlos can observe. Then he turns and looks at Carlos with narrowed eyes. His mouth is a thin line of seriousness. Carlos sits a little straighter.

“It's Kevin.”

“Aw, Cecil, not this again-”

“He threatened me.”

“What?!”

“Well, not me. You, really. Which is basically me, since you are my world and I'd rather endure the most painful tortures of hell than have any harm befall you, my darling Carlos.”

If he weren't used to Cecil's melodrama now, Carlos might be more touched, or concerned, for that matter. As it is he simply waits patiently for Cecil to finish. He gets very offended when interrupted, and that's usually the kind of thing that throws him into a sulk.

“Cecil, when did this happen? Why didn't you tell me?”

Cecil looks at Carlos with wide eyes, lips forming a little pout. It's painfully cute, but Carlos doesn't allow himself to be distracted.

“You told me to be nice to him,” Cecil says. He tells Carlos everything that passed in the library and what begins as brief stirring embers of guilt quickly burst into all consuming flames. The guilt has to battle it out with an intense fury for Carlos' main emotion. He is so, so angry that anyone would dare lay a finger on Cecil, would threaten him, and he's so mad at himself for thinking Kevin deserved a chance. Obviously Cecil was right about him.

“It's alright. He can't do anything to me. He's just saying that. C'mere.” Carlos holds Cecil and smooths down his hair, murmuring comforting words against his temple. He may be angry, but Cecil comes first, and this has obviously upset him.

“I don't want you to get hurt,” Cecil says after several minutes of this, finally raising his head. Carlos kisses him. Light. Chaste.

“I won't.”

“You can't know that for sure.”

“Cecil, I promise you nothing will happen.”

Cecil kisses him this time. Harder. Firmer. Carlos holds him close and lets him.

*

“Earl.” Carlos stands at the edge of Earl's bed, on the other side of his curtain, waiting for permission to enter. After he'd consoled Cecil and managed to cheer him up somewhat, they'd both showered and curled in bed to read together. Cecil had fallen asleep with his head on Carlos' shoulder and his arm around his waist. Carlos had gently removed him and placed the blanket over him before quietly padding across to talk with Earl.

There's a moment of silence before he gets an answer.

“Yeah?”

“It's Carlos,” he says, even though Earl probably knows his voice. It's just one of those automatic things people do that Carlos has always wondered about, wondered why, and yet in all his wondering has never stopped doing it himself. “Can I come in?”

“Uhm, okay.”

Carlos slips in through the curtain as Earl clicks on his side lamp. He's half sitting up in bed, hair tousled. He glances up at Carlos questioningly.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to- Did I wake you?”

“No, no.” Earl smiles and sits up against his headboard. Carlos meant what he said to Cecil. This really is the happiest he's seen Earl since he came here, and as angry as he is, he still hates the idea that this is probably going to be upsetting for him. Carlos has nothing against Earl. He's always been friendly and easy to get along with, while not quite as enthusiastic and forward as Cecil, definitely warmer and more talkative than Steve.

“Look, I just want to say that I'm sorry for this in advance, and I know it's nothing really to do with you, but, I thought it might be better if I spoke with you about it rather than going behind anyone's back.” Carlos is impressed that he managed to get all that out in one go. He's not good with confrontation, but this is important, and it needs to be dealt with.

Earl is sitting straight now. He frowns at Carlos' words, and it is clear on his face that he is concerned and just a little bit confused. He runs a hand through his hair (only succeeding in messing it further), and tilts his head to the side like a puppy.

“What are you talking about, Carlos?”

Carlos breathes in and let's it out in a sigh. Here goes nothing.

“It's Kevin.”

Earl's face immediately falls.

“Has Cecil set you up to this? Really, Carlos, I thought better of you-”

“No, Earl, listen to me, please.” Carlos steps forward, reaching a hand out. He doesn't know what he's reaching for. His hand remains raised between them for a moment before he reaches to push his glasses up. “This isn't about what Cecil was saying before, alright. I didn't like that and I certainly didn't agree with it. I, uh, I actually told him to leave Kevin be.”

Carlos fiddles with the hem of the faded t-shirt he sleeps in. He looks up over his glasses at Earl and then tentatively moves to sit on the bed beside him. Earl doesn't say anything, so he assumes this is alright.

“If you and Kevin are- Are you..?” Carlos trails off, feeling quite uncomfortable. He's not sure he and Earl are really close enough to be having this kind of conversation.

Earl bites his lip and touches the side of his neck. His fingers stroke along a mark there and after glancing at it Carlos realises it's a dark bruise, not unlike the ones bitten into his neck. He quickly averts his eyes, feeling even more awkward about this whole exchange.

“Er, yeah. I- We are.”

“Right. Well.” Carlos licks his lips nervously and looks back at Earl. “I definitely don't have a problem with that. I mean, I think- As long as you're- Y'know, whatever makes you happy.”

He gives a little nod to emphasise this point and takes comfort in the fact that Earl looks just as mortified by this whole thing as he is.

“I just want to make that clear. This isn't- This isn't something against Kevin, alright? Well, not just for the sake of it.”

“What is it, Carlos?” Earl says, and suddenly there is a bite to his voice. Carlos watches his body shift, shoulders rounding forward, becoming something defensive.

“Kevin threatened Cecil,” he blurts out. Well. Not exactly the gentle kind of way he'd wanted to approach that, but what can you do?

“What?”

“Kevin, he, ah- He threatened Cecil. In the library. Or, uh, he threatened me, really, from what I've heard, but to Cecil.”

“Kevin wouldn't do that.”

“Look, I don't think Cecil is lying. I know he's not fond of Kevin, but I don't think he'd lie. Not about something like this. Do you?”

There is a stretch of silence between them. Earl looks torn. He chews on his thumb nail, staring down at his duvet. Carlos shifts, wanting this to be over, wanting to be curled up in bed with Cecil again. Finally, Earl raises his eyes to meet Carlos' gaze.

“I- No. I don't think Cecil would- But, I don't think Kevin would...” he trails off, looking just as torn as before. “I don't know.”

“I just thought it might be better if you have a word with him rather than one of us. I don't want to start any fights, Earl, but I can't- I'm not willing to let him threaten Cecil.” Carlos says these last words in a much firmer voice than the others, determined. He's not willing to let anyone threaten Cecil. His Cecil.

“I understand.” Earl nods, and he looks horribly upset now. Carlos feels guilty all over again. That seems to be his main emotion of today. “I'll- I'll talk with him, yeah?”

“Thanks, Earl.” Carlos stands and gives an awkward little nod, not really sure how to end things after that. “Goodnight.”

Earl makes a vague sound of recognition in response, and Carlos makes his escape.

He crosses the dorm quickly and slips into his own bed. Cecil stirs at the movement of the mattress. He makes a soft sound in the back of his throat and rolls over, reaching through the dark for Carlos. Smiling softly to himself, Carlos guides Cecil's arm back around him and pulls the other boy close. Cecil's shifts, pressing his face against Carlos' neck. Carlos can feel the movement of his lips around mumbled words.

“G'd'nigh', Carlos.”

“Good night, Cecil,” he says softly, quietly, aware Cecil is only just barely awake and not wanting to wake him any further. He strokes his fingertips down along Cecil's spine and presses a kiss into his hair.

No. He won't stand for anyone threatening Cecil.


	16. Chapter 16

Cecil doesn't see Kevin for the rest of that week, which he is happy about. Carlos remains uninjured, which he is even happier about. He notices Earl has been quiet and tense around him for the past few days, but compared to the other issues at hand, this is hardly his main concern.

Ha. Perhaps it was just an empty threat. Likely. Ugh, people from Desert Bluffs, Cecil thinks, really twist his trousers.

He's sitting with Carlos at dinner thinking about this and chewing quite angrily, much more forceful than is necessary. He has munched his lentil loaf right down to mush.

“Are you alright?” Carlos asks, touching Cecil's thigh lightly beneath the table. Cecil's heart does a casual flip-flop at the comfortable intimacy of the contact.

“Fine.”

“Are you still thinking about-?”

Cecil swallows his mouthful of mush and turns his head. He looks into Carlos' eyes for a second before smiling.

“No. I'm fine, really.”

He's closer to Carlos than usual, pressed up against his side, bodies in contact from their shoulders right down to their ankles. Cecil has become terribly clingy now that Carlos is potentially at risk. Nothing is going to happen if he can help it.

“If you say so.”

Carlos returns his smile and gives his thigh a little squeeze beneath the table. They continue to eat in comfortable silence as one of the boys at their table sobs into his orange juice and another murmurs a Russian chant swiftly beneath his breath. Not unfamiliar occurrences. What is not a standard part of their day is the female voice that comes from behind them.

“Carlos Rivera?”

“Uhm, yes, that's me?”

Carlos glances back over his shoulder. Cecil's fingers tighten around his hand. He also shifts to look, spotting Leann Hart, the school secretary, behind them. She gives him a quick, sweet smile before her eyes move back to Carlos. Cecil feels an irrational stirring of possessiveness curl in his chest.

“I've been sent to inform you that you've been summoned by the City Council.”

No.

“They want you to come in tomorrow. Standard procedure, nothing to worry about.”

_No._

“Here, this is for you,” she says, smiling as she hands him an envelope. Carlos simply stares for a moment before slowing reaching out to take it. Cecil is squeezing his hand painfully tight beneath the table now, making his own fingers feel numb with the force he is clutching onto Carlos.

“Er. Thanks?” Carlos says, glancing at Cecil from the corner of his eyes. Cecil is staring at him, mouth a hard, firm line, eyes wide behind his glasses. No. Not again. Not Carlos.

“No problem. If you'd like, we can have someone escort you to the Council premises. Or perhaps Mr Palmer here will volunteer.” She smiles at Cecil and he does not understand how she can be so pleasant about this, is angry that she does not realise how horrible this is. His hand spasms around Carlos' fingers.

“Yeah, Cecil will show me where they are. Thanks, Miss Hart.”

Carlos is smiling. He's smiling at her. How can he be smiling at her? Does he not remember what Cecil told him, what happened to his parents? Oh. Oh Void. Cecil can feel his chest getting tight. It is clenching, shrinking, closing in on him and he is suffocating. There are white spots across his vision and he is feeling ill. He's going to be sick. He is going to throw up mushy lentil loaf all over the dinner table because he cannot deal with this. He can't. Even the thought of it is making him sick.

Then Carlos is holding him, stroking his face and asking what is wrong. Miss Hart is gone. He is not sure when she left. He is not sure of anything except he cannot let Carlos go to that awful place. Even though he knows it cannot be avoided. If Carlos does not show up they will hunt him down and drag him there.

“I'm going to be sick,” he murmurs, leaning his forehead against Carlos' shoulder.

“Shit. Cecil. C'mon, let's get out of here, yeah?” Carlos helps get him on his feet and half carries him out of the dinner hall. Once they're outside, Cecil slumps back against a wall, drawing in panting breaths. Carlos stands in front of him, caging Cecil in with his body so he won't fall. “Cecil, what's wrong?”

“The City Council.”

Carlos is quiet. Cecil forces his eyes open and he can tell from the look on his sweet Carlos' face that he knows exactly what Cecil is thinking about and why he is so afraid. He reaches up and softly strokes Cecil's cheek.

“I'm sure I'll be alright.”

“I don't want you to go.”

“I have to.” Carlos holds up the letter, giving it a little wave. Cecil does not remember him opening it. “It says here if I don't there will be dire consequences.”

“I don't want you to go.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I don't want you to-”

Cecil doesn't remember when he started crying either, but suddenly he is sobbing. He lunges forward and throws his arms around Carlos' shoulders, clinging to him as he chokes out angry, scared sobs against his neck. Carlos strokes his back and hushes him.

“Is something wrong? Is Cecil alright?”

Cecil squints through tear blurred eyes to find that Earl has followed them from the dining hall. For some reason, this only upsets him more, and causes him to cry harder. Carlos' hand is in his hair, fingers working small, comforting circles against his scalp.

“He'll be okay,” says Carlos quietly, and Cecil wants to tell him that he's wrong, that he can't be okay now.

There is a moment of silence and Cecil can feel Earl staring at him.

“Is there anything I can-?”

“No. I don't think so. Thanks, Earl, but I'm just going to take him back to the dorm. Is that okay, Cecil? Yeah?”

Cecil is aware Carlos is addressing him now. He manages a weak little nod. Carlos' arm is around him, strong and firm and comforting. They leave Earl standing outside the dining hall, and the last glance Cecil has of him, he is looking lost and helpless. Cecil doesn't really take much of their journey to the dorm in. No one pays them much mind. They are used to people sobbing, wailing, screaming and worse.

Carlos leaves Cecil on his bed, hushing him gently and kissing his forehead before disappearing. Cecil feels betrayed by this abandonment until Carlos returns with a wet wash cloth. He removes Cecil's glasses and gently dabs his tears away, then washes his face with warm water. He closes their curtain and helps change Cecil into one of his sleep shirts before he quickly changes himself. Once he's done, he takes Cecil to bed and pulls the blanket over them, holding him close and stroking his hair.

“It's okay.”

“No it's not.”

“I've got you.”

Cecil turns his head, pouting up at Carlos, eyes puffy from crying. His throat is dry and raw, and he can feel it convulsing around his words when he tries to speak. He grabs the front of Carlos' t-shirt and holds it tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

“They can't take you from me.”

“They won't, Cecil. They just said it's something about a visa or something.”

“Do you have a visa?”

“Er, no. I didn't think- No one mentioned needing one.”

“It's a lie.”

“I'm sure it's not.”

“They're lying. They're lying and they're going to take you from me!”

Cecil can feel himself getting worked up again, his words becoming frantic and his breathing erratic. Carlos hushes him gently and cuddles him close again.

“You're getting worked up over nothing. It will be fine, I promise.”

“You can't promise that.”

“Yeah, well, I do. It says here the appointment will be an hour, two hours at the most. That's not that long. We can go for lunch together afterwards, yeah? Or to that frozen yoghurt place you wanted to take me.”

“If there is an afterwards.”

“Hush. There will be.”

Cecil raises his head again. Carlos is looking at him in a wary kind of way, as if he's fragile, as if Carlos is afraid he might break if he says the wrong thing. Cecil is not fragile. Cecil is one of the strongest people in this place. His fingers loosen around Carlos' shirt before they clench once again and he pulls him in for a hard, firm kiss. Carlos emits a surprised sound against his mouth.

“Cecil.”

“Shh. Don't talk. Just- Please, Carlos.”

And Carlos is quiet after that. There is only the occasional soft, wet sound when their lips meet or part. Cecil slowly lets his fear and his worry melt away for the moment, concentrates on the feel of Carlos' body pressed against his, solid and warm. He lets the usual dizzying rush that comes with kissing Carlos overtake him, feels his head spin and his stomach quiver and lets it consume him. Lets Carlos consume him.

“Please,” he murmurs, soft and low, and he's not really sure what he's asking for. His hand moves from Carlos' shirt to his hair, holds firm there as he kisses him with everything he has, trying to pour every ounce of love and concern into it. Please don't leave me. Please don't let them take you. Please come back. _Please please please._

Carlos pulls back slightly to remove his glasses. They always bump against Cecil's when they kiss, pressing red lines into their noses and getting knocked askew, causing awkward angles and annoying collisions. Cecil removes his as well and sets them aside with Carlos'. He goes back into the kiss too quickly and their noses bump painfully. Carlos laughs against his lips, giddy and breathless. Cecil giggles, but there are still tears at the corner of his eyes. He is so full of clashing emotions he feels as if he is going to burst. Cecil has always been someone who feels fully and passionately, but even he has never felt like this before.

Carlos cups his jaw and guides him into the next kiss slower. Their lips meet perfectly this time and Cecil whimpers against Carlos' lips, broken and desperate, needy but not sure what it is he needs. His fingers clutch at Carlos' hair as Carlos sucks on his lip gently, strokes his hands up and down his sides.

“Carlos.”

“'m here.”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Just- just, please.”

Carlos shushes him with more kisses, and though he stills when Cecil's hands reach for the hem of his shirt, he does not stop him from peeling it up and over his head. Cecil is determined to feel every inch of him, to memorise the soft heat of Caros' skin. He trails his lips down along Carlos' neck, pants open mouthed against the curve of his throat as his hands map out Carlos' chest, the swell of his ribs when he inhales, the dark trail of hair leading down from his navel.

“Carlos.”

“Cecil.”

Cecil sits up and peels his own shirt off in one fluid movement, tossing it carelessly aside. His vision is blurred without his glasses and he has to squint to bring Carlos into focus, but it doesn't matter. This isn't about seeing. This is about feeling. Carlos is breathing shallowly, and Cecil can feel each harsh exhale against his chest. He gently straddles Carlos' thighs, taking his face in his hands and bringing their mouths together again.

Carlos' hands are gentle and hesitant on his back, fingers tracing the line of his spine. His touch leaves Cecil breathless, but it is perfect. It drives any thoughts from his mind until all that is left is _CarlosCarlosCarlos_. This is what he wants. This is what he needs right now.

They are kissing again, but it is clumsy now, lazy, they are both distracted by exploring hands and trailing fingers. Cecil drags his nails experimentally and Carlos hisses against his mouth, drags his own nails down Cecil's back, causing him to arch and moan.

“Quiet,” Carlos mumbles against his mouth, although he doesn't sound like he really means it. It makes Cecil giggle. That they could be overheard by Earl or _Steve_ at any moment makes it more thrilling. Then Carlos is mouthing hotly at his shoulder and Cecil is giggling no more, is incapable of doing anything other than exhaling sharply and clutching at Carlos' hair, his hips rolling down automatically, of their own accord. Carlos swears quietly, in Spanish, and it is beautiful.

He flips them and leans over Cecil, caging him in with his arms as he ducks his head down to continue mouthing at his collarbone. Cecil is a whimpering, begging mess, and when Carlos finally takes the hint and slips his hand beneath his waistband, he has to bite his wrist to stop from crying out.

What starts as slow and sensual soon turns frantic. They are both teenage boys and they are both new to this, trying to learn what makes the other arch and moan, what draws the best noises from them and makes their eyes roll back. They stroke each other together, too distracted for kissing, making bleary eye contact as they share breath. Cecil is the first to go, biting down into his lip and burying his face into the crook of Carlos' shoulder. Carlos is not long to follow, and they lie in a mess of sweat slicked limbs, chests rising and falling swiftly as they regain their breath.

Carlos is the first to break the silence.

“Are you alright?”

Cecil is slowly coming back to himself. His concerns from earlier, his worry and fear, slowly soaking back into his bones. Carlos' finger beneath his chin gently tilts his head up to meet his eyes, and he feels a little more at ease. He doesn't want to ruin this moment. Not when it has been so perfect. Regardless of what happens tomorrow, at least they had this. At least they had one perfect evening and one perfect time.

“Yeah. I'm more than alright. I'm perfect.”

Carlos sighs, soft and content.

“Good.”

“Carlos.”

“Mm?”

“I love you.”

There is a moment of still, of quiet. Then Carlos takes a sudden inhale and squeezes Cecil closer to his chest, pressing a firm kiss to his temple.

“And I love you, Cecil.”

And everything is perfect.

*

The next day Cecil is quiet and sullen. He knows he is making it worse for Carlos, that he is making him worry, but Carlos, sweet and perfect Carlos, is making such an effort to be strong and happy for him. It only makes Cecil feel worse.

He goes with him to the Council buildings at the edge of town. They do not look particularly threatening. They are a brilliant white and lined with small, square windows. The front doors are large and swinging, made of glass. The building would look perfectly innocent and unassuming if not surrounded by the large, electric charged fence that seems more fitting for a prison, and caged in by tall, electronic gates.

The guards will not let him pass the gates, and so he has to leave Carlos there. He kisses him hard and more clings to him than hugs him.

“It'll be okay, Cecil. I'll be fine,” Carlos reassures him for thirty eighth time that morning, gently moving out of Cecil's grasp. “I'll see you in an hour or so. I love you.”

“I love you,” Cecil croaks in response, his throat tight and aching.

Cecil watches Carlos disappear into the building and has to fight back tears again. He will not break down. He will be strong for Carlos like Carlos has been strong for him. Yes!

He's too restless to stay still, so he goes for a walk to pass the time. However, he's not comfortable being too far from Carlos, so he turns back after twenty minutes and ends up pacing impatiently around the fence of the building for the better part of an hour. Carlos should be out by now. Why is he not back? He's not coming back. They've got him and now they won't give him back. It's just like his parents all over again. Except no, it's not, because Cecil is different now, and Cecil will not let them just take Carlos. Not without a fight. Not this time.

He's just getting ready to storm up to the guards and demand entrance when the doors open again. Carlos! He staggers out into the sun, looking around in confusion for a moment before he suddenly stands straighter. Cecil leans against the gate. He can feel the faceless guards watching him, but disregards them, stretching his arm through the bars and out towards Carlos. He won't be happy until he has him back by his side again.

Except when Carlos reaches him, Cecil's stomach drops so hard and so far he is surprised it does not fall out and land on his feet.

Carlos is different.

The skin at his temples is raw, as if it has been burned. There is a thin trace of blood at the corner of his lips, as if someone had missed a spot while cleaning it away. His eyes are darker, are too dark, and he is smiling, but it is like no smile that Cecil has ever seen him smile before. It isn't really like a smile at all.

“Hello, Cecil. I told you I would be perfectly fine, didn't I?”

Cecil recoils when he speaks. His tone is cheery and upbeat, yes, but too cheery. It sounds forced. It sounds like-

_Kevin._


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Charlie, who is often the only one that keeps me going when I've hit a block. And who patiently listens to all my whining about it.

Carlos does not remember what happened.

He remembers Cecil. He remembers that he loves him. He remembers his name, and that he is in Night Vale, and where he goes to school. He remembers the atomic numbers of elements, and how the elemental table is laid out, and physics equations. He remembers the names of the organs and how to find the momentum of something. He remembers a lot of science related things. He remembers facts and figures. He remembers less things about himself. But they mustn't be important, right? He would remember them if they were important. Right.

He remembers Cecil.

Cecil is important.

Cecil will not look at him. Cecil is not talking to him. This is upsetting, because Carlos loves Cecil, and Cecil loves him. He remembers that. He does not understand why Cecil is upset. He does not like it. Everything is fine. He, especially, is fine. In fact, he feels better than he has in a long time. He feels wonderful. He wants Cecil to feel as wonderful as he does.

“Darling, look at me,” he says for what must be the eleventh time. Cecil does not look. Cecil is crying. Carlos wants to find whoever it is that has made Cecil cry and hurt them until they cry. Wants to break them down and tear them apart for upsetting his sweetheart. He reaches out for Cecil's wrist. “Cecil.”

“Don't touch me,” Cecil hisses, pulling his arm away, and Carlos feels as if he has been slapped. He stops in place, holding his hand against his chest and staring at Cecil. Cecil sighs and runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. “You're not Carlos.”

“Of course I am.”

“You're not _my_ Carlos.”

“I am yours and yours alone, my sweet.”

“No! You're not! Carlos doesn't- You don't- That's not how you talk!” Cecil is teary-eyed and his hair is sticking up in different directions. Carlos feels a stirring of tender affection in his chest.

“Of course I do.”

“No. You don't. Or you didn't, before. They've changed you. They've made you- You're not Carlos anymore.”

Cecil turns and storms off. Carlos hurries to keep up with him. He is upset. He is not thinking straight. He just needs a while to calm down. Then he will see, he will see that Carlos is better now. Carlos is perfect the way Cecil always said and they can be perfect together.

“Stop following me! I just- I need to be away from you right now. I can't- I-” Cecil breaks off, rubbing a hand over his face. He sniffs and rubs his tears away. “Just leave me alone for a while.”

“If that's what you want.”

“Yes. It is.”

And so Carlos does. He stands alone in the desert, sand blowing around his ankles and sun beating down on the back of his neck, and he watches Cecil walk swiftly back to town, his head bowed. Carlos stands until Cecil has disappeared from sight, and then he walks back towards the school.

*

The school is mostly empty and so Carlos meets no one on his way back to the dorm. He is vaguely upset, but it is not so much his own emotion as he is feeling Cecil's upset, and alongside that he is angry that Cecil is upset. At whatever is upsetting Cecil. Except, he's not sure who that is. The way Cecil was acting suggests it is Carlos himself, but surely that cannot be. Carlos loves Cecil. He can't imagine being the cause of any ill feeling.

No. Cecil just needs to calm down, that's all.

Carlos finishes his homework and when Cecil still hasn't returned he goes for a walk around the school, wanting to be doing something, to be productive. He does a few laps of the building and then suddenly it is getting dark and he is simply standing at the edge of the football field, staring down along it's length. He blinks several times, and his head is filled with the sound of static.

Carlos rubs his temples, confused and feeling a mighty headache coming on from nowhere. He turns, looking around. Time doesn't always work right in Night Vale, but he's never seen it go dark so suddenly. And wasn't he outside the library just a minute ago?

Carlos shakes it off. He probably just dazed out. Yeah, that's it. No harm done, regardless! And perhaps Cecil will be back by now. Excited by this prospect, he heads back to the dorm. He stumbles several times, but does not notice, even when he has to push himself off of a wall after falling into it. All he is thinking of is Cecil.

Cecil is still not back.

Very well, Carlos will just have a little lie down and wait for him. He hopes he's okay. Of course he's okay, he's Cecil, and besides, whatever could happen to him in their beautiful little city? It is foolishness to worry, and Carlos' head is aching too much for it regardless. He curls into a little ball on his bed, pressing his face against his pillow. It smells like Cecil, and for a moment he is overwhelmed with the feeling that he is forgetting something. That there is something important just skirting around the edges of his consciousness.

If it were important he would remember it. Right?

Right. It is foolishness to worry.

*

Cecil doesn't come back until late. He stubs his toe against the bedpost and swears silently into the dark. The sound stirs Carlos from his light, hazy sleep and he blinks awake, head swivelling instantly towards Cecil's direction.

“Is that you, my darling?”

The room is still and silent for several seconds. The window offers limited pale light from the moon, and it is enough for Carlos to see the outline of Cecil in the dim. He is standing stock still, his back to Carlos. A handful of moments more pass before he sighs and moves to click on his bedside lamp.

Carlos stands and slowly approaches Cecil. He lightly touches his shoulder and Cecil turns, looks at him with undisguised hope. Carlos strokes his cheek as Cecil sighs again, disappointment evident. His eyes are red and puffy, and it is clear he has been crying on and off throughout the day. A little shock of electric runs from Carlos' hand to Cecil's cheek and he jerks away from it. Carlos looks at his hand as if curious why it has betrayed him, before slowly lowering it.

“You look exhausted, love.”

Cecil stares at him, unblinking.

“You're bleeding,” he says eventually, and makes a motion to indicate beneath his nose. Carlos reaches up and presses his fingers above his own upper lip. They come away wet with blood. He stares at his fingertips for a long moment, absently licking his lips. Cecil clearing his throat effectively pulls him from this daze.

“Oh, bother. I'll just go get this cleaned up,” says Carlos, with the air of someone suffering a mild inconvenience.

A quick trip to the bathroom later and he has cleaned the blood away. He checks his reflection before he leaves, attempting to smooth down his bed head. He smiles at his reflection, straight teeth bared in more of a grimace than a smile, but it looks the same to Carlos.

When he comes back, Cecil is already in bed. Carlos sits at the edge of his bed and strokes his forehead. Cecil flinches, but this time the touch comes without the spark of electric.

“Where have you been, my darling?”

“I needed space to think,” says Cecil, quietly. Carlos' smooths back his hair, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to his temple. Cecil is still and tense beneath him. He waits until Carlos sits up before he speaks again, all in a heated rush. “I'm going to help you!”

“Help me? With what?”

“They won't get away with this. I'll fix it. I'll get you back. I'll get my Carlos back.”

“I'm right here, Cecil.” Carlos chuckles and gently pushes Cecil's shoulders back down to the bed again. He'd been moving to sit up as he got more passionate. “I think someone needs to sleep.”

Cecil clenches his jaw and says nothing.

Carlos leans in and brushes their lips together lightly. Cecil does not pull away, but he does not respond, either. Carlos assumes it is only because he is tired. He lifts the edge of the duvet.

“What are you doing?” Cecil recoils so suddenly he almost topples off the bed, but Carlos catches his wrist firmly before he has the chance, fingers digging in hard enough to leave white marks. He hauls Cecil back.

“Getting into bed with you. Isn't that obvious? You must be really tired, my dear.” Carlos slides in beside Cecil, gently tugging him against his side. If Cecil is stiff and tense in his hold, he does not notice. Cecil's scent is even more overwhelming in his own bed, and Carlos is once again troubled by the feeling that there is something that has slipped his mind, something he really needs to remember. He brushes the idea aside. “Rest now. I'll protect you.”

Cecil is crying again. His face is against Carlos' chest and he can feel the dampness of tears, can hear the quiet, muffled sobs that Cecil is trying to disguise. He patiently hushes him, stroking his hair and pressing his lips to Cecil's temple, murmuring sweet words. Eventually, Cecil quiets down again.

“There now. There's nothing to be upset about.”

*

Carlos sees very little of Cecil on Sunday. He is in the art room, working on something for the magazine. Or so he tells Carlos. Carlos has no reason to doubt him, so he gets on with his own thing until dinner.

“You have to eat, sweetheart.”

“Not hungry.”

“You have to eat something.”

“Not. Hungry.”

“Come on, Cecil. Please? For me?” Carlos takes Cecil's fork gently from between his fingers, holding food up to his mouth. Cecil glares at him, stony faced. “Yes?”

“I said I'm not hungry.” He bats the fork out of Carlos' hand, and before Carlos is aware of what he is doing, he has gripped Cecil's wrist tight and is forcing it down to his side.

“You have to eat,” he says, voice lowered, leaning in close.

“Carlos.”

“It's for your own good.”

“Carlos, you're hurting me.”

“I'm just looking after you.”

“No, Carlos, you're- Let me go. Carlos!”

Carlos looks down at his fingers curled around Cecil's wrist, nails biting into his skin. He lets go suddenly, as if he's been burned. Cecil cradles his wrist to his chest and looks at Carlos with wary, wounded eyes.

“Apologies. I didn't mean to squeeze so hard.”

Cecil says nothing.

“You know I would never purposefully hurt you.”

“I still have work to do.” Cecil rises quickly, before Carlos can stop him. He leaves the dining hall and leaves Carlos sitting alone, pondering what it is he has done wrong.

*

Carlos spends part of his evening in the library, not wanting to go back to the empty dorm again just to wait for Cecil. When he does get around to heading back, he can hear shouting as he approaches the door. It takes him only half a second to recognise it as Cecil's voice, and a few seconds more to run into the room.

Cecil is fast approaching on Earl, who looks confused and upset, and is currently backing around his bed.

“It was him! That Desert Bluffs scum. I knew he was bad news, I knew-”

“I don't know what you're talking about, Cecil. Kevin hasn't done anything.”

“Well, Earl _Harlan_ , I find it very funny that a week after your little _boyfriend_ threatens me, that Carlos gets called in by the Council and comes out- comes out-”

At the mention of the Council, a sort of sad understanding comes over Earl's face.

“Cecil.”

Both boys turn to look at Carlos standing in the doorway.

“Cecil, darling, why are you shouting at Earl?”

Cecil's back is to Earl now. He takes a step back, closer to him. Earl takes a tentative step forward. Carlos frowns, moving towards both of them.

“I'm fine. Kevin hasn't done anything. There's no reason for you to be fighting, now, is there? Why can't we all get along?”

“Carlos?” Earl says, tentative, looking between Cecil and Carlos. “Er- Are you alright?”

“I'm perfectly fine, thank you for asking, Earl. Wonderful, in fact. Never better. Poor Cecil here has been feeling a little out of sorts lately, though. Haven't you, my love? Perhaps you should take a lie down.”

“He did this,” Cecil snaps, suddenly impassioned with his anger once again. He turns on Earl, looking as if he's about to pounce. Before he has the chance, Carlos is behind him, one arm curled firmly around his chest.

“Come now. Leave Earl be.”

Cecil struggles, glaring daggers.

“You tell him he'll pay for this. Tell him I'll make him regret it.”

“Good night, Earl!” Carlos smiles cheerily over Cecil's shoulder as he easily drags him down towards their side of the room.

Earl is left frozen on the spot, wide eyed and frightened.


	18. Chapter 18

It's not the same. He is in bed with Carlos' body, but it is not Carlos, and Cecil cannot forget this fact. The upsetting part is that he is still sweet, gentle and loving. Even more so than before, but Cecil has seen him lose control, can still feel the tender areas on his wrist. This is not his Carlos. The warmth and scent of him is still comforting though, so he doesn't make too much of a fuss when Carlos cuddles him closer. It's difficult to fully relax, but if he closes his eyes and just inhales, he can almost pretend.

“You've just not been yourself lately, have you, my darling?”

Cecil laughs bitterly against Carlos' shoulder. Wow. The irony in that. If only Carlos knew. If only Carlos could appreciate the twisted humour of it.

“Is something wrong?” Carlos' fingers are sliding along his jaw, tilting his head up so he can look into his eyes. Cecil stares back at him, but his eyes are too dark. It is not Carlos. He is still lost in there somewhere (or, at least Cecil hopes he is in there), and this is just his body under some foreign influence.

“'M fine.” It does not do to argue. Carlos does not understand. “I'm just tired.”

Carlos gives an understanding nod.

“You've been working hard. Get some sleep. I will look after you.”

Cecil does not trust him to do that at all.

Carlos clicks off the lamp and presses a kiss to Cecil's temple. They settle down into bed together, and Cecil evens his breathing out until he hears Carlos' do the same. He lies awake for a long time, staring into the dark. He does not dare to move in case he wakes Carlos.

Carlos jerks suddenly. Cecil tenses, hoping he's just moving in his sleep. He shifts again, and his fingers grab at the back of Cecil's shirt. They clench tight, pulling the material back and causing the neck line to press against his throat. Cecil does not know if Carlos is awake or doing this in his sleep, but he is terrified all the same. He pulls at his shirt, trying to loosen it around his throat.

“Carlos.

Carlos is clawing at him now. Cecil tries to pull away, but the arm around him is iron firm and he cannot escape.

“Carlos, you're hurting me.”

“Good,” says Carlos, in that same cheery, upbeat tone. His eyes are opened now and they are completely black. His nails are claws and they are splitting the skin of Cecil's back.

“Carlos!”

“Don't worry, baby. I'm going to look after you. I'm going to fix you. I'll make it all better.”

As much as Cecil kicks and screams, he cannot escape. Carlos pins him down against the bed, and he is helpless. His wrists are tied in place and Carlos' weight on his hips prevents him from struggling much. Carlos tears the shirt away from his body. Cecil can't breathe. He is not crying, but he is terrified. Panic and fear are mixing in his chest, are causing his throat to tighten, and he cannot breathe.

“Carlos, please.”

“Shhh.” Carlos kisses him. It is hard and it is rough. His teeth tear at Cecil's lip, spill blood into his mouth and everything is sharp and metallic. “Let me look after you.”

Cecil is coughing on his own blood as Carlos cuts him open. He does it with his bare hands. He presses his claws into Cecil's chest and he strips his skin away, peels him open as Cecil writhes and screams beneath him.

“It'll all be over soon, my darling. I've got you.”

Cecil's throat is tight and aching. His screaming is silent now and his eyes are burning. He still doesn't cry.

Carlos is taking bits of him out. He is carefully digging them out and laying them out on the sheets beside Cecil's head. There is blood everywhere. The smell of it is thick in Cecil's nose. He can't breathe. He can't beg. He can't do anything but lay and let Carlos tear him apart bit by bit.

*

“Cecil. Cecil! Wake up.”

There are hands on him. There are hands holding him. All Cecil can think of is that his wrists are free and he does not want to be held in place any longer, does not want to be restrained. He lashes out in the dark.

“Calm down, darling. It's alright. I've got you.”

Cecil is barely aware that he is sobbing. The pain is gone, but his throat is still tight and he is sobbing so hard that he is gasping in breaths. Carlos is holding him close, hushing him and stroking his hair. Cecil lashes out against him, but he doesn't have the energy to fight him off properly. Each hit is merely a weak swat.

“You're alright now. It was just a nightmare, Cecil. Just a nasty dream.”

“You-”

“I've got you.”

“You're-”

“I'm here. Shhh.”

Cecil is shaking. He buries his head into Carlos' shoulder. He can't fight any more. He hasn't got the will. He just breathes in and pretends it is his Carlos that is holding him. Pretends this whole horrible ordeal has just been one long, terrible dream. Carlos wipes gently wipes away his tears with the hem of his t-shirt.

“There, all bet-” He cuts off, going tense, and Cecil pulls back immediately, afraid that it is going to start all over again. Carlos blinks several times in rapid succession, and his eyes are back to normal! Cecil gives a squeal and wraps his arms around his throat.

“Carlos!”

Carlos holds him back just as tightly.

“Cecil, I don't know what's happening, but I am so sorry. I would never willingly hurt you, you know that?”

“You're back now, that's all that matters.”

“No, Cecil, listen, you have to-”

“Have to what?”

“Hm?”

Cecil slowly, fearfully, moves back. Carlos smiles at him. His eyes are back to that blasted, inky darkness.

“No! No, you were back. No!” Cecil is screaming, but he does not care. He can hear stirring in the dorm. Can heard Steve inquiring about what is wrong, but he does not care about that either. Carlos tries to touch his arm, to comfort him. Cecil lashes out, pushing backwards and stumbling out of the bed. “You were back! You were- No!”

He can't deal with this. He can't. Carlos was back, he was back and Cecil was so happy he thought he was going to burst. He can't have that just ripped away from him again. It's not fair. It's too much.

He flees to the bathroom. He ignores Earl who is asking if he is alright. He ignores Steve who is complaining about the noise. He locks himself in one of the shower stalls and he slides to the floor. Carlos follows and stands outside, but Cecil refuses to let him in.

“Sweetheart, come on. It was just a nightmare. Let's get you back to bed where it's warm, yeah?”

“Go away!” is all Cecil will say, over and over again, until Carlos finally gives in.

He curls up in the corner of the shower, head in his arms, and cries until he can't cry any longer.

It's a few hours before Cecil creeps out, feeling shaken but no longer quite as scared. He's mostly just exhausted. Steve and Earl are asleep by now, and he hopes Carlos will be too, but of course he is wrong.

“Are you feeling any better?”

“Fine.”

“Come back to bed.”

Cecil nods and gives in. He can't do anything else tonight. He'll see what he can do tomorrow. He crawls in beside Carlos and allows himself to be caught in his hold. He'll get his old boyfriend back soon. Even if it's the last thing he does.

*

Cecil is poking at his cereal the next morning, taking a spoonful every so often so Carlos can't complain he isn't eating, when one of the Sheriff's Secret Police walk right into the dining hall and stop by his table. Everyone is watching. Cecil slowly sets his spoon down. He turns his head up to see what they want, but the officer merely moves past him to Carlos.

“Mr Rivera?”

“Yes,” says Carlos brightly, smiling up at the officer. “That's me.”

The woman hands him an envelope.

“Congratulations. You are now an official citizen of Night Vale. These are your official documents. Please do take care with them.”

“Wow! I certainly will. Thank you.”

Official? But, Carlos _can't_ be an official citizen. He's an outsider. He doesn't live here. He's not staying here permanently. Citizenship is only given for permanent moves. To people who are chosen and brought here, and are consequently trapped. He watches as Carlos opens the envelope and examines the certificates of identification, smiling all the while.

“Isn't this wonderful? Now I can stay here with you, my sweet. Forever.”

“Do your parents know about this plan?”

“My what?”

Cecil drops the spoon that he had lifted again. It clatters against the tabletop. He looks at Carlos with an expression of disbelief.

“Your. Parents?”

“My parents are dead, Cecil.”

Cecil knows that is not true. He is sure of it. He stares at Carlos, who is looking back at him with a confused little smile. It's worse than he thought. It's all so much worse than he thought.

“I have to go.”

“Wait! Where are you-”

“There's something I have to do.”

*

“Cecil.” Earl looks warily around the empty corridor as if searching for an escape.

“I'm not going to shout at you, but I do need to talk to you. It's very important. It's about Carlos, but we have to-” He grabs Earl by the elbow and tugs him into a side door. They end up in the tight space of a broom closet. Cecil closes the door, which leaves them in darkness. He can feel Earl's breath mingling with his. He smells like mint. “We can't be seen.”

“C-Cecil.”

“Do you think there's something weird about Kevin?”

A sigh in the darkness. Cecil feels it in a rush of hot air against his throat.

“I'm not having this argument with you again, Cecil. I don't care what you think about-”

“No, I'm not- This isn't an argument. I'm just asking, do you think there's something weird about him? Is there anything a bit off?”

“Like what?”

“Like, he's happy. Too happy. All the time.”

“Well... That doesn't mean anything.”

“And his eyes aren't normal.”

“I've seen weirder things.”

“Does he ever hurt you?”

“What? No! Kevin would never-”

“Not intentionally, no, but has he ever grabbed you too hard or anything?”

There is a beat of silence between them. Cecil can hear Earl's breathing, can feel the rise and fall of his chest. He knows that he is scaring Earl. That his own terror is being projected onto the boy in front of him, and it's not fair, really, but nothing is fair at the moment.

“No.”

“You're lying.”

“No.”

“He does, doesn't he?”

“No.”

“You don't have to defend him- Ow.” Cecil stumbles back as Earl suddenly shoves him hard in the chest. His foot catches in a mop bucket and he slips, falling backward against the wall and banging his head against the shelves.

“I said no, Cecil. You don't know what he's like. You don't know what we're like together. Kevin would never hurt me! I'm sick of you constantly attacking him. I'm sorry that something weird is happening with Carlos right now, and as your friend I am willing to help you, but that doesn't give you the right to be a complete and utter dick to me. And considering how you've been acting lately, you should be glad that I'm willing to help you at all, because you haven't been acting like my friend at all for a long time!”

Earl's breathing is heavy and laboured with his anger now. Cecil's head is throbbing from where he hit it against the shelf and his body is slumped awkwardly against the wall. A part of him wants to cry again, but he knows it won't help. Another part of him wants to get angry, wants to shove Earl back and let out his frustration through a fight. That won't help either. Earl is right. He shouldn't be acting like this. Not when he's in such a desperate position.

They say nothing for so long that Cecil is convinced Earl is going to walk out and leave him with his foot stuck in a mop bucket and a pounding headache. Eventually, he clears his throat.

“I'm scared,” he admits quietly into the dark. Earl answers with a sigh. Then there is a hand on his waist and another cupping his elbow, and Earl is helping straighten him up. Cecil kicks the bucket off of his foot.

“I'm sorry for shouting.”

“I probably deserved it.”

“So. What are we going to do, then?”

“I don't know, Earl. I really don't know.” Cecil runs a hand through his hair. “Have you ever met Kevin's parents?”

“I- Uh. No, we haven't really been going out that long.”

“But he has parents?”

“Uhm.”

“Has he ever mentioned them to you?”

“I- Uh, I don't know.”

“Carlos told me his parents were dead today,” Cecil says after a moment.

“Oh my void. What happened?”

“His parents aren't dead.”

“Then why would he-”

“Something is wrong with him.”

Earl shifts in the dark. Cecil can feel the movement. He can feel Earl fidgeting.

“I noticed.”

“They've done something to him and I don't know what.”

“Why do you think Kevin is involved?”

“Because- Because, he's acting like him, Earl. Carlos. He's speaking the same and his eyes have gone all creepy and-”

“Hey! Kevin's eyes aren't creepy.”

“They're kind of creepy, I mean- Anyway, no. That's not the point.”

“But... Does that mean they've done something to Kevin, too?”

“I'm thinking it just might.”

There is another lull in their conversation. Cecil assumes Earl needs a moment to take this information in. The sharp intake of breath that follows his statement and the way Earl moves back against the further wall seems to support this. He gives it another few seconds to set in.

“I don't know what it is, and I can't say for definite about Kevin, but they've done something. The Council. They've altered his personality somehow,” Cecil says, not sure how to put the changes he has noted in Carlos into words.

“Why would they do that?”

“Why does anyone do anything? You know better than to ask that, Earl Harlan. Since when has the Council needed a reason for anything?”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. It is.”

“We have to do something?” It is meant to be a statement, but Cecil can hear the question in Earl's voice. He is frightened and unsure just as Cecil is. Even together, they are powerless against the Council. Merely having this conversation is putting them at risk. If someone overheard, if one of the Sheriff's Secret Police-

No. It doesn't bear to think about, and it does not do to further encourage the fear bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Cecil has to be brave now. For Carlos.

“If we don't, no one else will,” he says, and there is a certainty to those words. He is sure of this as a fact.

“I guess,” says Earl, slow, hesitant. “We'd better come up with a plan then.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone missed it, I've done a piece that develops the Kevin/Earl situation since him and Cecil's chat in the last chapter. It's not necessary to the plot, but some of you might be interested: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1090030

Cecil slinks in to class late with Earl. He drops into his seat beside Carlos and pulls out his books. Carlos glances up to make sure the teacher isn't looking their way before whispering to Cecil.

“Did something happen?”

“No. I was just sorting things out with Earl.”

“Oh, that's wonderful!”

“Yeah.”

Carlos is delighted. Now that Cecil and Earl have made amends, his darling has no reason to be upset. Why, they can even double date with Earl and Kevin now! Oh, that'll be lovely. He squeezes Cecil's knee beneath the table, grinning, and Cecil gives him a tired, weak smile in response. Carlos puts it down to not getting enough sleep because of the nightmares and thinks no more of it.

*

Cecil is still distant, is still tired and upset looking. He keeps waving off Carlos' inquiries.

“Just tired,” he says.

He's been working hard lately. Always moving between the art room, the magazine society, and him and Earl have started having little study sessions together. It's good, Carlos supposes, to see him so productive. He's proud to have someone as hard working as Cecil, even if he does wish the other boy would make more time for him.

Sometimes he wants to demand Cecil's attention. Wants to drag him away from Earl and away from his work. There are so many things he could do to him. He could make Cecil feel so good, could make him appreciate how lucky he is to have Carlos. But it's selfish to think that way, so Carlos tries not to focus on it too much, tries to keep himself as occupied as Cecil, between the lab and the library.

He doesn't do his own experiments any more. He does not question the town or its inhabitants. Night Vale is his home now. Night Vale is wonderful, and if there is anything out of the ordinary, well, every town has its quirks. After all, it just makes their little community all the more special.

Everything is wonderful. Carlos does not need to question any more.

*

Zzt.

He can feel it. Not all the time, but every so often he comes so close to the surface that he can feel himself trapped, can feel the little shocks of static that jolt beneath his skin. He knows that he is being smothered alive inside himself, but more importantly, he knows Cecil needs him. He can't help and he hates that. All he can do is struggle and fight and-

Zzzzt.

It's getting hazy now. That heavy drowsiness that settles just before you fall asleep. No. No, it can't take him again. Nonono. He needs to get through. He's afraid if he doesn't shake this off soon he is going to do something he will regret. Something terrible.

He can feel the impulses. Can feel them spark and creep beneath his skin just like the jolts of electric. When he holds Cecil he imagines wrapping his fingers around that slim neck. Imagines squeezing until the veins rise to the surface. Until he is gasping and writhing and silently begging for air, and oh, wouldn't that be a marvellous sight? Of course, Cecil would enjoy it too. He would appreciate each breath even more after being denied them and he would appreciate Carlos for allowing him that ability again.

No. No, he wouldn't. And Carlos would never do that to Cecil. Would never hurt him. Would never-

Slice his skin and watch the blood trickle to the surface. Smear the red along his skin, use it like Cecil uses his paint, to make such a pretty picture upon the best canvas. It may not be permanent, but that's alright. Half the fun is in cleaning up the mess. Carlos would use his tongue as his brush, would take long swipes along Cecil's skin, would gather every last drop.

No. This is not who he is. These are not his thoughts. These impulses are merely implanted and Carlos will not give in to them. He won't. He won't. He-

Zzzzt.

Fading out again now. He can feel it. He can feel that he has lost once again.

I'm sorry, Cecil.

I'm so sorry.

*

“Carlos, what is this?”

Carlos glances up from his book. Cecil's voice sounds strained around the words. He is holding a torn piece of paper. It is red, stained with- is that blood? Something in Carlos stirs. Something aches with longing in his chest and for a moment everything is gone except that red smear on the paper. His head buzzes. His eyes glaze over.

Zzt-

No, it can't be. Red ink, probably. Or paint? Maybe.

“I don't know, my darling. What is it?”

“Did you put this under my pillow?”

Carlos blinks up at Cecil curiously. Cecil stares back, his jaw clenched and his expression pained. Carlos does not like it one bit.

“I haven't been near your bed, my sweet. You know that.”

Any night Cecil spends in his own bed, he spends alone. He tells Carlos he doesn't want to wake him with his nightmares, and even though Carlos argues that he does not mind and that he is here to comfort Cecil, some nights he is very insistent.

“May I see it?” Carlos asks.

Cecil takes a moment to consider. He seems reluctant. His fingers tighten around the piece of paper, and he looks down at it with a frown. Slowly, he holds out his hand. It is shaking. Carlos takes a gentle hold of his wrist and brushes a kiss along his knuckles before taking the paper from between his fingertips. The words on it are messy and uneven, looking as if they've been spelled out with finger paint.

_sorry_

_I'm trying_

_don't give up on me_

“Has someone done something to you?”

Carlos feels heat bubble beneath his skin. He meets Cecil's eyes and Cecil gives a tired little shake of his head. He takes the paper from Carlos and crumples it in his palm, dropping it on the bedside table. Carlos slides his hands around the back of Cecil's thighs and pulls him closer, propping his chin on Cecil's stomach and looking up at him.

“Are you sure?”

Cecil's hand comes to rest on his head. Light at first, hesitant, but then his fingers sink into Carlos' curls and rub along his scalp. Carlos presses up into the contact.

“I'm sure, Carlos. It's probably just Steve's idea of a joke. He has a weird sense of humour.”

“What a jerk,” says Carlos, quoting Cecil's most used phrase when it comes to Steve. This earns him a surprised laugh from Cecil, and he covers his mouth with his free hand, as if he hadn't been expecting the sound to come from him.

“Yeah,” he agrees with a soft smile. “What a jerk.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a lot longer than I anticipated. I've rewritten it so many times, and I'm still not sure if I'm happy with it, but hey! At last we have the plot moving forward again.

Cecil looks down at Carlos' sleeping form. He touches the corner of his mouth. His face is relaxed in sleep, that uncomfortable smile that is becoming such a constant fixture no longer stretched across his face. Carlos' face twitches and Cecil moves his hand away quickly, not wanting to wake him.

He sits up in bed as quickly as he possibly can and reaches across for the crumpled sheet of paper on the bedside table. He unfolds it, and even though it is wrinkled, he can still make out the words on it.

_I'm trying_

Carlos, his Carlos, is still in there somewhere. Struggling. Fighting. Cecil glances down at the boy again and smiles, soft and sad in the dim evening light. His resolve hardens. He has to find out what has happened to Carlos and how to fix it, before he loses him completely.

_Don't give up on me_

No, because Carlos hasn't given up. He hasn't given up on Cecil and he hasn't given up on himself. Cecil closes his hand around the paper again and holds it to his chest, taking a shaky inhale. He needs to stop feeling sorry for himself. It's not going to fix anything.

“I won't, Carlos.”

*

Cecil knows something is wrong the moment Earl stumbles into their dorm on Saturday night. His eyes are wide and he is shaking. He takes a few weak steps and has to sit on the edge of his bed, his legs giving way beneath him. His breathing is coming in quick, shallow pants, and his forehead is shiny with perspiration. Carlos looks curiously across from his bed.

“What's wrong with Earl?”

“I don't know.”

“He was with Kevin today, wasn't he?” Carlos sets down his book and sits a little straighter. Around his eyes crinkle in concern, but the black depths don't change, and it's disconcerting to see the pretence of emotion alongside the complete lack of it. “You don't think something happened with them?”

“I'll go see.” Cecil gets hastily to his feet before Carlos has the chance. “He'll not want to face too many people, if something has happened.”

“So considerate.” Carlos smiles, taking Cecil's hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. Cecil is impatient to talk to Earl, but he doesn't want to make it too obvious, doesn't want to make Carlos suspicious.

“Cecil,” Earl says, as Cecil starts to walk towards him. “Cecil, I-”

“Shh. Wait.”

Cecil pulls Earl's privacy curtain shut and sits beside him, one leg tucked beneath him. His mouth is a thin, serious line and his eyes are narrowed behind his glasses.

“Did something happen?”

“Yes.”

“He didn't hurt you, did-”

“No! No, nothing like that. He's worried about me actually, I left that quickly.”

“Why?”

“I- I just couldn't stay. I had to say I was feeling sick. I couldn't, couldn't- Not after seeing.”

“Seeing what? Cut the suspense building nonsense, Earl. Just tell me.”

Earl looks at him, as if he's not entirely sure how to break whatever news he has to Cecil. His lips part and remain parted, hesitant, for several seconds.

“I met Kevin's parents today.”

“Oh. He has parents? Are they normal? Or are they-”

“Cecil.” Earl holds his hand up, motioning for Cecil to let him finish. “Cecil, they were your parents.”

“What?”

Cecil feels as if someone has thrown a bucket of cold water over him. He shakes his head, shifting back from Earl. His throat is tight. His insides are burning. Earl has made a mistake. He has to have made a mistake. He shakes his head again, faster this time.

“Cecil, please. I know this is a bit of a shock, but-”

“They probably just look like them. You know. Like Kevin looks like me.”

“No, Cecil. I've met them before, okay. I- I know it's them.”

“Oh, void.” Cecil pulls his legs up and presses his face against his knees. He wraps his arms around his shins. He feels like he's going to be sick. “Oh void oh void oh void.”

Earl touches his back, rubbing light circles, but Cecil barely notices. No. His parents are dead. He's made his peace with that. They can't be- His parents are _dead_. No. They'd have come back to him by now if they weren't, they'd have found him, they would have. They would have.

“They didn't remember me, Cecil. They didn't seem to remember anything. They asked about Night Vale. Things they should have known. They said it seemed like a nice town, but, well- That nothing could beat their sweet Desert Bluffs.”

Earl shifts to face Cecil fully, fidgeting with his hands. Cecil's silence is obviously making him uncomfortable. He notices this, but makes no effort to speak. His insides are churning. He is so full of emotion that he does not know which one to focus on.

"They- Well, I mentioned you, and-”

Cecil's head snaps up.

“And what?”

Earl frowns at him, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“The didn't remember you either.”

Then the anger comes, hot and burning. It stirs him into motion. It gives him strength. Because the City Council have taken his parents, and now they are trying to take his Carlos, except this time Cecil is older and wiser. This time he plans to do something about it. He is not going to stand by and let Carlos forget about him.

“We have to go to the City Council offices,” he says, trying to sound confident.

He doesn't know what they'll find there. Doesn't know if they'll even find anything, but honestly, he has no idea what he's doing and it seems like as good a place to start as any.

“Right. We'll head tomorrow then-”

“No. It has to be tonight. There's less chance they'll see us at night. “ A guess. Hopefully a good one. “If we're doing this, Earl, we're doing it tonight. And I'm going, even if you won't.”

Earl is silent for a moment. He looks fearful. Cecil finds it hard to feel sorry for him. At least his family have not been ripped from him. Have not forgotten his existence.

“No. I'm with you. No matter what,” Earl finally says, and there's a hard resolve to his voice.

“I'll come get you after Carlos falls asleep. Be ready.”

*

Getting out of the school is their first challenge. Cecil changes quickly and quietly in the dark, once he is sure Carlos is sleeping deeply enough not to wake when he slips away. Lifting the crumpled note, he reads it once more before slipping it into his pocket, a reminder of what he is fighting for. He crosses to Earl's bed, and pulls the curtain back without a word. Earl is ready, his backpack on. They don't speak until they're down the hall and making their way outside.

“How are we going to get past the guards?” Earl eventually asks, and Cecil doesn't have an answer. When the silence lingers, Earl offers an answer to his own question. “I stole a few of these earlier. They should release a dark cloud of smoke when we throw them. They- Uhm, they're reserved for the camping trips, to escape if something attacks us, but- Well. I thought we could use them.”

Earl holds out a few small, black spheres in the palm of his hand, and if Cecil were not so scared and nervous, he would be delighted that Earl had the foresight to plan ahead. All things considered, Earl is probably the best partner he could have on this particular mission, and there is a moment when Cecil is fiercely grateful for his presence.

“Good thinking.”

He takes a few of the balls from Earl, sliding all but one into his pocket.

There is nowhere to hide as they walk down the lane, so they make no effort. They walk swiftly and with a confidence they do not actually possess. At the gates the guards step out, and Earl flicks his ball without hesitation. They duck around the first, covering their mouths and noses as the smoke rises. Cecil hits the front of the other guard's helmet when he flicks his sphere, and they run.

They don't stop running for the next five minutes. Cecil stops first, falling heavily against the wall of the Ralph's and breathing in sharp, jagged lungfuls of air that burn his chest. Earl stops by his side, bent forward with his hands on his knees as he struggles to even out his breathing. They both feel the victory, are giddy with it despite the fact it's barely anything. They don't know what else they will face tonight,.

“Right.” Cecil straightens up and runs a hand through his hair. “Onward?”

Earl nods, and they continue to the edge of town.

The Council buildings are grey in the semi-dark, the void navy melting into dark purple above them, only a sparse sprinkle of stars across it. The gates are locked and the fence is buzzing quietly with electric energy. Fortunately, there are no guards in sight, but this does little to reassure Cecil. There is no gap he can see that is big enough for them to fit through, and he doesn't quite fancy being electrocuted.

“What now?” Earl asks, and Cecil has no answer for him.

“Let's walk around and see if there's any gaps.”

After two laps of the fence (one together, one walking in opposite directions) they are no further forward and Cecil is seriously considering suffering the fence and climbing over it. He has to do something. He can't just leave. He can't go back, not without doing something. He can't leave Carlos the way he is.

“Bit late for you boys to be out here, isn't it? And all by yourselves, too.”

The voice comes behind them, even though there were no footsteps or sound of movement before it. It is soft and smooth, by carries over the breeze loud and clear. Cecil and Earl turn at the same time, hands going for their pockets and the spheres there, feet parting in a fighting stance. The man chuckles, and it is as smooth and low as his voice. His hat is pulled forward, casting his face in shadow. He is dressed in a long, tan jacket and carrying a briefcase, looking like a door to door salesman-cum-private detective rather than a strange man wandering the desert after midnight.

“Now, now, no need for any of that.”

“Who are you?” Cecil says, his voice fierce and demanding. His fingers hold firm on his smoke sphere.

“That's not of importance. My name or existence does not matter. I'm here to assist you, and that's all that is of concern.”

Cecil and Earl share a glance. Years of friendship mean they can communicate without words. Earl gives a half shrug, and it says _I don't know if we can trust him, it's your call_. Cecil licks his lips and tilts his mouth, which says he's unsure, _but we don't really have much of a choice, do we?_

“Why are you here?”

“To assist you. I've already made that clear,” says the Man in the Tan Jacket, and he clicks his tongue against his teeth in vague irritation. “I know why you're here, Cecil Palmer and Earl Harlan. I know what happens behind these walls. I have the information you seek, and I am willing to part with it. Your aggression is unnecessary. But come, it's not safe to discuss such matters here.”

Exchanging another look, Cecil gives Earl a brief, sharp nod and they follow the man as he leads them further out to the desert. The two boys stay close together, and keep their spheres in their hands, just in case. It is not the best idea to follow strangers out into the desert at night, but there is no other acceptable option right now, and Cecil has to do something for Carlos. Eventually they come to a small, crooked shack, that looks barely bigger than an outhouse. When they enter, it's actually a bunker, with a metal frame bed in the corner and a squishy armchair across from it. There is a writing desk in the middle, and on top of it several briefcases are stacked.

“Sit.”

The man nods towards the bed. Earl sits first and, after a moment, Cecil joins him. He watches the man with narrowed eyes. He wants to know what information the man has.

“Why did you bring us here?”

“Less chance of being overheard,” says the man, as he sits his briefcase with the others. He does not remove his coat or his hat. It is still difficult to see the definition of his face. It is blurry, like a photograph out of focus, but Cecil doesn't particularly care for appearances right now.

“You said you know what they're doing. Does that mean you know what they've done-”

“To Carlos Rivera? Yes. And your parents, too.” The man sits in the armchair across from them, folding one leg over the other. “You both know of Desert Bluffs, of course. The whole town is aware. However, what they don't know is how it came into existence.”

“What do you mean?” asks Earl, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“Desert Bluffs was an experiment by the City Council. An alternative version of Night Vale. They wanted to make the perfect town, where everything ran smoothly, where there were none of the … glitches, we experience here in Night Vale.”

“What has this got to do with Carlos?”

“Patience, Mr Palmer. I will reach the connection soon enough. When it first began, the Council started with people that would not be missed. Older citizens. The ones that blinked out of existence every Tuesday. People who could vanish without it being noticed. These were their earliest experiments.

At first they tried to control them with pharmaceuticals, but it wasn't enough. They had to be constantly drugged, and they wouldn't willingly take their tablets. As well as this, they wanted to leave. They wanted to go back to Night Vale. They fought the control constantly. So the Council had to come up with different means.

At the earlier stages, they weren't always successful. People died. People were mutated. Eventually, they worked out how to take them apart and re-wire them, literally.”

“Like cyborgs?” Earl has been listening with rapt attention.

“Yes, something similar.”

Cecil has gone still beside him. His hands are curled into fists in his lap and the colour has drained from his face. His knuckles and the thin, tight press of his lips are white. He swallows, and the man's head tilts towards him, suggests that his eyes are settled on Cecil.

“Is something the matter?”

“I've had dreams like that. Of being torn apart and rebuilt with wires and mechanics.”

“Ah, yes.” The man tilts his head back and the white of his teeth can be seen as a grin stretches across his face. He chuckles. “Of course.”

“And you find that funny, because?”

“Oh, your dreams are not at all humorous, but I should have known... Considering what you are destined for, it makes sense that you would have some form of precognition.”

“What I'm-”

“Not important now. But yes, that is what happened. The more people they practised on, the better they got at it. Their control meant that their subject's original personality was replaced by how they wanted them to act. With time, they lost more and more of themselves. Their memories dissolved. They had no ties left to pull them back to themselves, and so they stopped fighting. They gave into what they had become.

There were some who still came through every so often, whose wills were too strong to be suffocated by their control, but once they had them under initial control, it was easy to get them to take their tablets. To have them willingly injected with drugs. A precaution, to stop the strong slipping through. Together with the mechanics, the drugs kept them from fighting.”

“Is that's what's going to happen to Carlos?”

“It's what has happened. What is happening right now. Tell me, has he shown any signs of himself? Any signs of his original consciousness?”

“Yes! Sometimes... Sometimes he talks, like he was, and he left this on my bed a few days ago...” Cecil pulls the crumpled note from his pocket and offers it out. He pulls it back before the man can touch it, not wanting it to be taken from him.

“Very well. There's still a chance to save him without damage then.”

“What about the others?”

For the first time, Cecil turns his attention to Earl. He's been thinking of Carlos throughout all this, forgetting that Earl is also involved, that this whole, bizarre situation also affects him. Earl looks very small by his side, his lower lip caught between his teeth. It's clear he's thinking about Kevin, is concerned of what will come of him. The man is silent for a moment before he speaks.

“There is still a chance they can be brought back, but like any ordeal, they will suffer.”

“So there's something we can-”

“No. I don't have the power to save the whole city. None of us do. I cannot control what the Council do over their own citizens, but Carlos Rivera is not of Night Vale, and they have no right to treat him as such.”

“So,” Cecil says, glancing down at the note in his hand. He feels the dull throb that correlates with the loss of his parents, but there is nothing he can do for them right now. Not like Carlos. He can help Carlos. “What do we do?”

“We have to remove whatever they have implanted in him.”


End file.
